


Advanced Mnemonology

by Aini_NuFire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesiac Castiel (Supernatural), Angst, Caring Dean Winchester, Castiel Angst, Castiel in the Bunker, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, He tries so hard, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Poor Jack, Post-Episode: s13e05 Advanced Thanatology, Season/Series 13, Soft Dean Winchester, Team Free Will 2.0, episode AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-14 23:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14147055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: AU 13x05 Castiel is back from the dead—but with no memory of who he is or anything else.





	1. Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> The title is derived from "mnemonics," the study of techniques to improve memory.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine. Thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading! ^_^

Dean didn't push the speed limit as they headed home after the case in Grand Junction. He needed the highway to stretch out as long as possible so he could just stay in that headspace of focusing on the sound of the Impala's rumble devouring the road. He didn't want to think about that kid he'd failed to save, or the nephilim child waiting for them back at the bunker. Dean needed a win but he was tired of chasing it, and in this moment, he let himself feel like he was fleeing instead—from the grief and pain, from the weight of Billie's pronouncement that he and Sam were  _important_.

If they were so damn important, why couldn't he save those who were important  _to him_?

The tires ate up the miles. Sam slept in the passenger seat. And Dean's gaze bored holes into the void of night as dark and empty as the void in his heart.

He stopped for gas just over the Kansas border, a little before midnight. Sam woke, and got out to stretch his legs.

Dean leaned against the Impala, one hand holding the gas nozzle in place as it guzzled fuel into the tank. His eyes roved around aimlessly, mostly out of habit and not because he was paying any crucial attention to his surroundings. Until a glimpse of tan caught his eye. Dean's focus snapped to a figure across the road from the gas station, and his lungs suddenly forgot how to breathe. The trench coat, the dark hair… No, it was impossible.

This wouldn't be the first time Dean had seen hallucinations of Cas, though in the past they'd been born of guilt more than grief. Still, Cas was dead, so whatever Dean's brain was conjuring right now was just a cruel joke.

And yet he couldn't bring himself to look away. Cas looked up and down the street a few times, almost as though unsure of which way to go. So, what, this vision of Cas was supposed to be some sort of representation for how lost Dean currently felt? He didn't need this shit.

"Dean? What are you…" Sam had been walking toward him but stopped, and Dean heard him suck in a sharp breath. "Is that…?"

Dean swallowed hard. "You see him?" he croaked out, afraid the answer would be no—afraid it would be yes. He didn't dare take his gaze from Cas for a single second, not even to check his brother's expression in order to gauge what was happening, if maybe he was just losing his mind.

"Yeah, but how—"

The confirmation was all Dean needed to lurch away from the car and start across the street. Cas was already turning down an alley and walking away from them. Dean quickened his pace.

"Dean, wait!" Sam hissed, running up behind him. "What if that's not him? What if it's some kind of trap?"

Dean clenched his fists tightly. Then he would rip apart anyone who had the gall to use his best friend's dead face to screw with them.

But if it wasn't, if it really was…he didn't have answers as to how that could be. They'd burned his body, for crying out loud. But Cas had come back before, so maybe…  _God, please, let it be…_

"Cas?" Dean called out.

The man kept walking, and Dean's breathing hitched.

"Cas!"

The figure finally slowed and turned around…and oh god, it  _was_  him.

Cas furrowed his brow at them. "Do I know you?"

And just like that, Dean's world came crashing down around him all over again. He pulled up short and reeled back. What kind of sick joke was this?

"Cas?" he asked again, voice cracking with desperation.

Cas's mouth turned down further, and he squinted in confusion before saying with almost tentative hopefulness, "Do you know me?"

Dean's heart dropped into his stomach. No…no, this couldn't be happening.

"Um…" Sam fumbled as he gaped at Cas. "You- you don't recognize us?"

Cas shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. But please don't be offended. I don't know who I am, either."

Dean couldn't believe it. This was just like Emmanuel all over again. Cas had come back from the dead, only with no memory.

But he's  _alive_  and he's  _here_ , his brain pointed out. And Cas had eventually gotten his memory back that other time.

Dean cleared the thickness in his throat and took a cautious step forward. "Your name is Castiel. Cas for short. I'm Dean, and that's my brother Sam. We're your fr- we're your family."

Cas regarded him a tad warily, like he was torn between being guarded or relieved. It kept Dean from pulling him into the hug he so desperately wanted.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Sam asked.

"I woke up in a field a few days ago. There was no one around, so I started walking, and I haven't stopped since." Cas's face scrunched up in concentration. "I keep having this feeling that I'm supposed to be somewhere, but I don't know where that is. So I just keep walking." He paused, casting them an uncertain look again. "It's strange," Cas added hesitantly. "I don't seem to get tired, or hungry."

His mouth pursed into a thin line, and he flicked a questioning glance between them.

Dean let out a breath of relief. That at least seemed to confirm that Cas was still an angel. Even if he didn't remember he was one.

"You're…not exactly from around here," Dean told him cryptically. "Why don't we take you home and me and Sam will answer all your questions, alright?"

Cas shifted his weight almost nervously, but said, "Alright."

Dean smiled finally, and allowed himself to reach out to at least clasp Cas's shoulder for a brief moment, before turning to head back to the car.

Sam shot him a tense look over Cas's head, but didn't say anything out loud. Dean could understand his brother's trepidation—since when did someone miraculously coming back from the dead with no explanation not have any consequences attached to it? But Dean couldn't care less about any of that, and as far as he was concerned, amnesia was a pretty damn big consequence. But they would find a way to work it out. The most important thing was Cas had come back.

And if there was ever a win Dean needed, this was it.

* * *

Sam followed his brother and newly resurrected best friend out of the alley and across the street to the gas station. It was a miracle the Impala was just where they'd left her, gas nozzle in the side panel. Sam almost couldn't believe Dean had dropped everything to run after a sighting of Cas like that—well, he could, and he had, too. Sam had almost been too shocked to speak when they'd caught up to the angel in the alley, only to discover Cas didn't know who they were. Or who he was.

Part of Sam wanted to be suspect of this miraculous event, wondered if they should test Cas for being a shapeshifter or Leviathan, or who the hell knew what else that might have stolen his face.

But even after a few moments, Sam could tell it was really him, just like he'd known when Dean had gotten back from Purgatory. And now Sam felt a conflicting mixture of awed relief and gratitude, but also gut-clenching worry and trepidation. Cas had no memory. Was it the shock of coming back from the dead, or a hard reset? Was it temporary or permanent?

Dean didn't seem to be worried about that so much, or at least wasn't showing it. He quickly put the gas hose back in its cradle and secured the gas cap for the car.

Cas had followed them willingly, but now he stopped and gave the Impala an uncertain look.

Sam jerked into motion and opened the back door for him. Cas gave him a hesitant smile before climbing in, and Sam exchanged a brief look with Dean over the roof of the car. How were they going to explain everything? How would Cas even take it?

Dean slid in behind the wheel, and Sam slipped into the passenger seat as he started up the engine. Then they were pulling out onto the road and heading toward Lebanon.

"So," Cas said after a moment. "Castiel…is an odd name."

Dean chuckled. "Not really. Not for an angel."

Cas didn't respond for a moment. "Um…"

Sam craned his head around. "You're an angel."

Cas quirked a brow at him. "I'm sorry, is that a flirtation?"

Dean choked on a laugh. "No. We mean you're an actual angel, from Heaven. You know, wings, harp. Or, sorry, not the harp. But that's why you don't sleep or eat."

Sam held back a grimace, and studied Cas's reaction carefully. Obviously, he'd already suspected something was…unique about him.

Cas's gaze had seemed to turn inward, like he sometimes used to do when he was using his angel senses. Sam thought he heard a faint rustle in the backseat.

Cas's face screwed up with a wince. "I hadn't noticed them before. Maybe I disconnected from having to feel them? They're broken."

Dean twisted around. "What?"

Cas rolled a shoulder, still squinting in concentration. "There appears to be a lot of old wounds. 'Wings' seems like a gross overstatement. I don't like them. I'm going to try to disconnect them again."

Dean threw a tense look at Sam, but he didn't have anything to say in response. How were they supposed to explain how Cas had lost his wings?

Sam swallowed hard after a few moments. "Are you okay now? They- they don't hurt anymore?"

Had they been hurting Cas the entire time since the angels fell four years ago? Sam had never thought to ask.

"Not as much," Cas replied. "It's a distant pain." He narrowed his eyes at him and Dean suddenly. "You two aren't angels."

Dean shook his head. "Nope, just two regular humans. Hunters, actually. As in we hunt monsters, demons. So do you."

"You said we were family." And there was a hint of doubt and accusation in his tone.

Sam saw the flash of devastation cross his brother's face for a split second, but then Dean cleared it and lifted his gaze to meet Cas's in the rearview mirror.

"We are. We've been through a lot together. An Apocalypse—or three—Hell, Purgatory, gone up against the Devil himself more times than I care to count. And you've been with us through everything. You're as much a brother to me as Sam is."

Cas's expression was pinched as he seemed to be trying to process that. And, really, did Dean have to throw all that out in one go? It was a lot for anyone to take in.

"We've known each other for nine years," Sam said in order to provide some context. "And in the last four, you've spent more time on Earth, helping people, helping us. You like hanging around with us and we like having you."

That was still vague, but Sam didn't know how to explain  _everything_  they'd been through together, particularly the bad stuff. Not right now.

"We have become family," Sam went on, flashing back to the moment in that barn when Cas had poured out his heart to them, when he'd come so close to dying. That and the fact that they had lost him later made Sam's eyes prick with moisture. "You- you have no idea how glad we are to see you right now."

Cas was quiet, and then, softly, "What happened to me? Why can't I remember anything?"

Sam exchanged a pained look with Dean, throat constricting further. He turned around to face the backseat.

"Um," he started, knowing he had to be truthful about this, but not wanting to upset Cas, who had to be in an emotionally precarious situation as it was. "Lucifer had gotten free again. He'd fathered a nephilim and wanted to get his hands on the kid, but you'd promised the mother that you would protect the baby. You didn't believe he was evil." Sam swallowed hard. "And you did protect him. You gave your life to keep him safe. Lucifer ended up banished to another dimension where he can't reach us anymore."

Sam flicked a grief-stricken look at his brother, but they both were silent after that. Cas didn't need to know about their mom.

"So, I was dead?" Cas said quietly.

"Yeah," Sam replied.

"Then how am I back?"

Dean shook his head. "I have no idea. But you know what? I don't care. You're back, and that's all that matters."

Cas looked away, out the window at the dark vista. "Am I back, though? I can't remember anything, so I'm not really your friend, not the one you know."

"Well, this ain't exactly the first time you've come back from the dead with a touch of amnesia," Dean said. "Give it some time, and I bet it'll come back to you."

Cas frowned. "I do that a lot? Coming back from the dead?"

Dean snorted. "To be fair, we all kinda do."

"And I've lost my memory before?" Cas continued. "So…so it should come back?" He sounded so hopeful, like he automatically believed Dean at his word.

Dean's throat bobbed. "Yeah. And if not…we'll figure it out."

Sam's heart clenched. Not even twelve hours ago, Dean had given up—on fighting, on believing. And now that Cas was back, Sam's stalwart brother with his indomitable stubbornness was back, too. It didn't matter that things weren't perfect—when were they ever? But just having Cas alive, even if he wasn't whole at the moment, was apparently the thing Dean needed to find his faith again.

And it was enough to help Sam put aside his own worries and doubts, and be thankful that their best friend wasn't lost to them forever.

So maybe Mom wasn't, either.

Cas stared at his lap. "What happened to the child?" he asked after a moment.

"His name is Jack," Sam said with a genuine smile. "And he's doing great. He's, uh, kinda full grown already. Even though he's technically only a few months old. He'll be really happy to see you." Sam almost told Cas that Jack thought of Castiel as his father, but figured that might be a bit too much pressure on the guy, considering he hadn't remembered promising Kelly he'd protect her child with his life, and thus how they'd ended up here.

"Actually," Sam continued, "I'm wondering if he might have been the one to bring you back."

Dean arched a brow at his brother. "Really?"

"We don't know the full extent of his powers. You have any other theories?"

Dean shrugged, and turned his attention back to the road.

The car fell silent after that. Cas had a lot to process, and Sam and Dean would give him time to do so. And from there, well, they'd just have to hope that miracles could come in threes.


	2. Memory's A Tricky Thing

Jack's fingers clacked along the laptop's keyboard, the only sound in the otherwise silent bunker. Sam and Dean were due back soon, and Jack wanted to have another case ready for them, wanted to show them that he could be a hunter. And that he'd mastered moving the pencil.

He found an article about some graves being dug up. Could be zombies—he'd checked. That would be a good case. He'd like to see zombies.

The front door grated open, and a few moments later, Sam came up the steps from the war room.

"How'd it go?" Jack asked, craning his head to look for Dean.

Sam glanced behind him, out of Jack's line of sight. "Jack, um…"

He stood up. "What's wrong?"

Sam's expression pinched as his gaze strayed to the side again, and now Dean was coming into view, hand on someone's arm and guiding them…

Jack's breath caught in his throat as he instantly recognized the thrum of grace. "Castiel?"

The man in the tan trench coat with dark hair turned piercing blue eyes on him.

Dean stopped and cleared his throat. "Cas, this is Jack."

Jack frowned in confusion. It couldn't be. "No. We burned your body, and what's burned stays dead," he repeated, looking at Dean in puzzlement. "How…?"

"Well, that's the question we've been askin'," Dean replied.

"Jack…" Sam interjected. "Did you, uh…did you bring Cas back?"

He dropped his gaze in contemplation. Had he done that? "I don't know," he admitted. But he could remember the moment when he'd overheard Dean and Sam arguing about him, Dean's palpable grief over Castiel's death and Jack's own heart-wrenching anguish over feeling so alone in a world he didn't understand. And something inside him had…reached out, maybe?

"I wanted him back. I…begged for him to come back, but…" Jack lifted his eyes to Castiel again, overwhelmed by the emotions roiling around inside him. His father was  _back_.

Jack crossed the room and slowly put his arms around Castiel. "I missed you so much."

Dean shifted next to them. "Uh, Jack, listen…"

Castiel raised his own arm to tentatively hug back. "Jack? Um, I'm sorry, but…"

Jack pulled back with a frown. "I'm sorry, should I not have done that? I'm still learning how to be human. But I'm a quick study. Did Sam tell you?"

Castiel's mouth quirked. "Yes, he said you're doing well. It's just…"

"Look, there's no easy way to say this," Dean jumped in. "Cas lost his memory."

Jack squinted at him. "I don't understand."

"I don't remember who you are," Castiel explained. "Or Sam and Dean. Or who I am. I was wandering around without a name until they found me." He gave Jack a pained look. "I'm sorry. I gather I was supposed to protect you when you were born, but I…well…" Castiel shrugged helplessly.

Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You're here now."

"Because of me?" Jack asked slowly.

"We don't know," Sam replied in a low voice. "We don't know, Jack. But we- we think maybe."

Jack felt something crush inside him. He had brought Castiel back…but with no memory. He'd failed to use his powers correctly, again. Was Dean angry with him? Jack regarded the hunter carefully, but Dean didn't  _look_  mad. In fact, he seemed almost lighter than Jack had ever seen. No hardness or emptiness behind his eyes. Dean even gave Castiel what looked like a real smile.

"Why don't we get you settled in your room," the older Winchester suggested.

"Oh, alright," Castiel responded, and started to follow as Dean led him through the study area toward the back corridor to the dormitory wing. He paused just before the threshold and turned to look back. "Jack, thank you."

Jack thought smiling was the appropriate response, but he couldn't quite make his mouth form the proper shape.

Castiel lingered for a beat of awkwardness, and then left with Dean.

Jack turned to Sam, whose expression was sad. "I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to…"

"No, Jack, it's not your fault," the Winchester interrupted. "Of course you didn't mean for this to happen. And you brought Cas back. Do you have any idea how amazing that is?"

Jack ducked his gaze. He wanted to be happy, he did. But he couldn't deny a sense of disappointment as well. Castiel was the one person beside his mother he'd had a connection to before being born. And they had both died before he could meet them. And now Castiel didn't even know him. …Didn't love him.

He felt a prickle in his eye and reached up to rub it.

"Hey," Sam said sympathetically. "Look, I know this is a lot to deal with. But there's a chance Cas will get his memory back."

Jack frowned. "There is?" So, he hadn't completely messed up?

Sam nodded. "It might take a while, though. It could be slow or all at once." He sighed. "Memory's a tricky thing. So for right now we just need to be patient with him."

"Okay."

Sam gave him another sad look and headed toward the dormitory as well.

Jack waited a few moments before taking the back way to retreat to his own room. He forgot about the zombie case. And his triumph with the pencil no longer seemed something to be proud of.

* * *

Dean led Cas through the corridors and opened door number 15. "Here's your room. I'm just down the hall in 11."

He held the door open and let Cas go in first. Cas roved his gaze around the sparse decor curiously, and then over the bed.

He canted his head. "But I don't sleep."

Dean shrugged. "You like watching Netflix."

"What's a Netflix?"

Dean quirked a small smile in fond amusement. Cas would always be a dork at heart.

"It's television and movies. But we probably shouldn't fill your head with fake stories until you get your real ones back."

Cas made a noncommittal noise and continued to look around. "Seems very…utilitarian."

Dean inwardly winced. Yeah, Cas never had gotten around to personalizing anything. Probably because he never stayed long enough to do so—but that was a sore point Dean was going to set aside for the moment. Cas was here now, and that was all that mattered.

"You should think about decorating," he said. "No time like the present."

Cas furrowed his brow. "But I don't know what I like."

Dean shrugged. "Look through some magazines or stuff online, pick out anything that speaks to you. Just because you can't remember what you like doesn't mean you won't recognize it on some level when you see it."

Cas's mouth pursed in thought. "I…remember thinking the flowers in the field where I woke up were beautiful." He quickly shook his head. "But there's no sunlight in here."

Dean immediately perked up. He'd buy a fake plant if he had to. "I'm sure there's something we could get. People have indoor plants. I think they even make special lamps to mimic sunlight. Or," he thought to add, "there's space outside to plant a garden."

Part of him couldn't believe he was even spending time and energy thinking of all this, but Cas didn't know them, didn't call this place home in any way, and Dean wanted to do everything he could to make sure his friend wanted to stay with them. After all, the angel only currently had their word to go on that he belonged here. And if his memory didn't start coming back soon, he might decide to strike out on his own, which Dean definitely did  _not_  want.

Cas offered him a small smile in return. "A garden sounds nice. Though, I'm afraid I don't know how to grow one."

"Me neither. But hey, learn something new, right?"

They fell into an awkward silence for a few moments. Dean tried to think of something else to say, but was coming up empty. All the issues they hadn't dealt with when Cas ran off with Kelly stopped mattering the moment Lucifer came back through that rift and… Dean's throat constricted. That flash of blazing light still haunted him. Dean had prayed and begged for Chuck to bring Cas back and all he'd wanted to do was both hug and yell at his stupid best friend for going after Lucifer like that.

But that wouldn't be the best approach here.

Cas cleared his throat. "I, uh, feel like I should apologize for causing this…complication."

"No," Dean said a tad sharply, and instantly corrected his tone. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm just glad you're back, man. And the rest, we'll figure out as we go."

Cas nodded absently as he slowly gazed around the room again. He let out a weary sounding sigh. "I'm afraid nothing looks familiar. Is, um, is there anything of a more…personal nature, here?"

Dean grimaced at the unintentional indictment. How many times had he lost Cas, and not had anything to show that the angel had ever been part of his life? Save that ratty old trench coat he'd carried around for months. Which wasn't even the one Cas was currently wearing.

"Well, you don't have a change of clothes. You're pretty partial to the Columbo look, and if it gets dirty or torn, you just clean it up with your mojo." Dean tried for a joking smile. "You change up your tie every few years."

Cas glanced down at his attire.

"You, uh, want me to find you something else to wear?"

"No, that's alright," Cas said. "It's not uncomfortable." He reached up to finger his tie curiously.

Dean straightened abruptly. "Hey, I do have something of yours. I'll be right back."

He ducked out of Cas's room and made a hastened beeline for his own, going straight for the small trunk under his bed. He grabbed the two most recent items he'd stashed in it, and hurried back, almost half afraid that Cas would disappear on him. But the angel was still there, standing around awkwardly.

Dean handed him the angel blade first. "This is yours."

Cas took it reverently, turning the hilt back and forth to examine it. "Interesting," he murmured. "I can hear a chord inside it that sounds like, well, me, I guess." He looked up with an abashed smile. "That probably sounds strange."

"Nah. You told me once that angels infuse a tiny bit of their grace into their blades when they make them."

It was the only reason Dean couldn't bring himself to get rid of the instrument of Cas's death, turned against him by Lucifer.

He waited to see if that piece of grace that had stayed on Earth this whole time might trigger something in the angel holding it. Cas gave the blade a little flip, brows rising a fraction as though in surprise at the smooth movement. Muscle memory wasn't so easily erased.

But he didn't slide the blade up his sleeve where he usually kept it, and instead placed it on the desk.

Dean held out the second item.

Cas accepted it with a perplexed frown. "This has your name on it."

"That's because I made it for you. It was a gift."

A gift he'd taken out of Cas's beaten up old truck after they'd lit the pyre… Which meant that even after ditching them and running away, Cas still listened to the damn thing.

Dean shook the dark memories away. "It's a mixtape," he said. "Music."

Cas cocked his head at the cassette. "Oh. I think I know that. It needs a device to play it."

"Yeah. Sam and I use iPods in the bunker, but I bet I can find an old walkman somewhere in this place."

Cas closed his fist around the tape. "Thank you."

Dean reached up to rub the back of his head. "Well, uh, I guess I should let you settle in." He felt a burble of irrational fear at letting Cas out of his sight for a single moment, but he knew he couldn't exactly hover. He didn't want to freak the guy out.

"If you have any questions, just come to me. Or Sam. We can start filling in the blanks later, see if anything jogs your memory."

"I do have a question. Um…" Cas began to fidget nervously again. "Jack said…he said you burned my body. Something about…staying dead?"

Dean's throat tightened, and it felt like he was swallowing broken glass. "I prayed to Ch- to God, to bring you back," he managed to get out. "I prayed harder than I've ever prayed in my entire life. And when he didn't answer…" Hot moisture pricked at his eyes as that old familiar grief welled up. Dean took a moment to keep it from spilling over. "We didn't think there was a way to bring you back. And so we gave you a hunter's funeral. We felt you deserved that."

"Oh. So it was…something sacred?"

Dean nodded. "Hunter tradition. And you were— _are_ —one of us."

Dean suddenly couldn't take it anymore, and he reached out to embrace his best friend, just to let himself sink into the knowledge and relief that Cas was here, that he was tangible and real and home where he belonged.

Cas raised his arms to squeeze back. "I'm sorry," he breathed. "I wish you hadn't had to go through that."

Dean closed his eyes. It wasn't the first time.

But it had damned well better be the last.

He pulled back with a watery smile. "Sorry. I don't want to freak you out."

Cas's eyes softened. "I'm not freaked out. Well, not about that. It's…encouraging. Knowing how much I'm loved." He quirked a rueful smile. "It'd be nice to remember it."

Dean could only stand there, a small part of his heart suddenly breaking. Because he was struck then by how  _unburdened_  this Cas was. Not weighed down by some grave mission, or relentless quest to fix a perceived mistake, or a desperate bid to 'be of use in the fight.'

Did the real Cas even understand that he was loved? How many times had Dean tried to tell him that he was family? That the Winchesters cared about him like a brother? Dean had just thought it had never been enough.

But standing here and seeing the look on Cas's face when he believed and  _accepted_  that he was cared for? It changed Dean's whole perception of everything, of all the words he and Cas had exchanged, the fights and fervent declarations. Had Cas really never gotten it? Why? Why was years of friendship and toil not enough to make Cas understand, when the version of him with no memory standing in this room accepted it at Dean's word?

Dean wrenched himself away from questions he wouldn't find answers to. Not unless Cas got his memory back and Dean could ask him.

He plastered on a smile for Cas. "Well, you don't need to remember it. Because you know it now. And me and Sam, and Jack, we're gonna help you through this."

Cas smiled back at him. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean nodded. No matter which way things played out, he wasn't taking his best friend for granted anymore.


	3. The Stranger in the Mirror

Sam stood in the hall, leaning next to Dean's door as he waited for his brother to come out of Cas's room. He would have gone inside, but he didn't want to make Cas feel crowded. Things had to be overwhelming enough as it was.

Dean finally stepped out, closing the door behind him, and caught Sam's eye. He headed over.

"How's he doing?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. "Fine. Considering."

"Any ideas on how we might try getting his memory back?"

"We'll figure it out as we go," Dean replied.

Sam quirked a disbelieving brow at that. He thought Dean would have been more gung-ho about restoring Cas's memory. But as Sam studied his brother, he realized Dean was just plain over the moon that Cas was alive. So much so that the rest didn't seem to faze him. For now, at least. And Sam was thrilled, too, that they had Cas back—he'd always held onto some sliver of hope that Cas would find a way back to them like he'd done so many times in the past. But Sam also wanted to help their friend, their brother.

So while Dean decided to hit the sack since it was already so late, Sam went out to the library instead and pulled out his laptop to start researching amnesia.

Unfortunately, every case was different. Most cases were due to head trauma—not exactly the situation here. Some were caused by an event so traumatic that the brain essentially shut it and everything else out in order to protect itself. Could that be why Cas had no memory now? Or did it have something to do with how Jack brought him back? In which case, there were no answers.

Not that there were answers if this had been a regular case of amnesia—even for human instances, there was no telling if memory would come back or not, fully or partially. The best thing to do was to get the person suffering from it back into their normal routine. Which, for Cas was not a good option, considering a lot of his routine involved being on the road hunting down some big threat. They'd have to try a different approach. Maybe go for a ride in the Impala again…even though the ride back to the bunker hadn't seemed familiar to him.

Sam leaned back and ran his hands over his hair. He hated feeling helpless. He'd been feeling that way too much lately.

Movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention, and he looked up to see Cas tentatively venturing into the library.

"Sorry," Cas said. "I didn't realize anyone was still up."

"You don't have to apologize," Sam assured him. "This is your home, too. You can hang out wherever you want in it."

Cas took a few steps further into the room. "I was curious, and thought I'd look around. It's certainly an interesting dwelling."

"Does, uh, does anything look familiar?" Sam asked hesitantly.

Cas's expression fell. "No." He studied Sam for a moment. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"

Sam huffed. "It's been a big day." He paused, pursing his mouth as he looked at the browser screen he had pulled up. "I, um, I've been reading up on amnesia," he admitted. "Trying to see if there's any way we can help you get your memory back."

"Oh?" Cas perked up. "Have you found anything?"

The hopeful look on his face made Sam deflate. "No," he said regretfully. "Everything I've read says we just have to take it slow, let it come back on its own."

Cas nodded sagely. "What if it doesn't? Come back."

"It will," Sam insisted. He had to believe that. Cas was here, after all.

Cas furrowed his brow, and moved to take the seat on the other side of the table. "I've been thinking—shouldn't I go back to Heaven? Maybe other angels can help me. Or God. I know Dean said he prayed and God didn't answer, but perhaps if I go request an audience in person…" He trailed off, squinting further at the aggrieved expression Sam knew he hadn't been able to keep off his face.

Shit, how was he supposed to explain everything?

"Um, well, first, God—he prefers to go by Chuck, actually—he isn't in Heaven. He's kinda gone on an indefinite sabbatical or something with his sister."

Cas gave him a dubious look. "God has a sister?"

Sam snorted. "Yeah, and that's a really long story. But he's not around anymore. And Heaven…um, I don't think you'd be well received there."

Cas frowned. "Why not?"

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "That's another really long story, but the gist is that over the years, when you chose to fight for humanity and defend free will, it put you on the bad side of Heaven. Several times."

"I don't understand. Why wouldn't Heaven have fought for those things too? Shouldn't that be our purpose?"

Sam smiled sadly. "Yeah. But there were some angels that didn't agree. There were a few wars in Heaven, and on Earth. Right now the angels are hunting Jack, so even if they could help you, I don't think it'd be a good idea to reach out."

Cas's frown deepened. "They're hunting that boy? Why?"

Sam grimaced. "Because he's a nephilim, and the angels consider him an abomination. Not to mention he's Lucifer son, so they probably think he was born evil. But he wasn't," Sam quickly added. "He's really trying to learn and be good. You were actually the first to believe that he wasn't evil just because of his parentage."

"I sincerely doubt there's an ounce of evil in Jack," Cas said rather sternly. "I felt his essence, the—grace?—inside him. It was like it resonated with mine. I can understand why I would have vowed to protect him." He pressed his lips together for a moment. "I suppose I should thank you and Dean for looking after him when I couldn't. It was unfair to place that burden on you."

"It wasn't like that," Sam hurried to say. "I don't think of Jack as a burden at all. He's just a kid who needs love and guidance." Which hadn't been easy to give with Dean actively hating the child he blamed for Cas's death and Mom's disappearance. Hopefully that would get better now that Cas was alive, and thanks to Jack.

"Jack, uh, he thinks of you as his father," Sam said hesitantly, unsure whether this was something Cas needed to know right now. But if his grace had recognized Jack on some level, then maybe it would help. "Not Lucifer. He chose you, even before he was born."

Cas stiffened slightly.

"I'm not trying to put any pressure on you," Sam added hastily. "Obviously, we don't expect you to take over looking after him or anything. I just wanted you to know that you were right when you set out to protect him. That no matter what happened because of it, you were right."

It seemed important for Cas to know that, even though he might not fully understand why right now.

Cas eased back in his chair, and they fell silent for a few moments. Then Cas softly cleared his throat. "Will you…tell me about…me? So far, I gather I'm an angel with a penchant for fighting for the underdog."

Sam couldn't help but grin. "You are the underdog."

Cas returned a flicker of a smile at that.

"You always try to do the right thing," Sam went on. "And sometimes you've made mistakes, but your heart has always been in the right place. You've always been there for me and Dean, have sacrificed a lot for us." More than they'd really ever taken the time to acknowledge. "You're the most loyal friend we've ever had. And I don't think we told you that enough."

Cas smiled warmly.

"You're a good fighter," Sam continued. "You've led armies in Heaven." He paused, debating whether to share this next bit, but it was pretty crucial to their history. "You rescued Dean from Hell. That's how we met."

Cas blinked in apparent surprise, but he didn't ask for details. Sam tried to think of something lighter he could share.

"You like coffee, and Netflix."

"Dean mentioned the Netflix," Cas responded.

Sam grinned, but then quickly sobered as he remembered how Cas had gotten into watching it in the first place. "You're always hard on yourself," he said softly. "More than you need to be."

Silence settled between them again.

"What about you and Dean?" Cas finally asked.

Sam started. "Us?"

"You said you're hunters. And I assume you were involved in these battles you said I fought in. And you've taken in a nephilim. Your lives sound pretty exciting."

Sam let out a low snort. That was one way to put it. "Well, uh…yeah, Dean and I were pretty involved in the Apocalypse. That's kinda complicated, though…" He straightened as an idea struck him, and Sam turned to his laptop to search for Carver Edlund's books. Sam couldn't believe he was actually grateful those things were still in print—and available online.

He slid his laptop around toward Cas. "These will probably fill in the blanks better than I can. Chuck- er, God, pretended to be a prophet for a while, and wrote our adventures down. Called them the Winchester Gospels." Sam rolled his eyes. "Anyway, they kinda go over our life story, and how the Apocalypse started, and how we met and became friends."

Cas leaned forward in his seat eagerly, tugging the laptop closer. Sam stood up, wondering if should give Cas some privacy to read.

"Um, I guess I'll head to bed," he said. "Unless you want me to hang around, in case you have any questions."

Cas looked up at him. "No, you should sleep, Sam. You look tired. I've gone a few days not even knowing my own name; I'm sure I can go a few more hours without the finer details." He offered Sam a smile. "Thank you."

Sam nodded. "Okay. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

* * *

Cas spent the next few hours reading through the 'Winchester Gospels.' The first several books centered on Sam and Dean, and he could easily picture them hunting monsters, saving people, all while simultaneously trying to find their missing father and avenge their mother's death. He was surprised to read about Sam's psychic visions, and then the demon blood. The man he'd sat across from earlier that night hadn't seemed part demon. But then, he was reading about events that had happened over a decade ago, and a lot had probably changed in that time.

His heart sank when he read about Dean's demon deal. That must have been how he'd ended up in Hell. And the further he read, the more Cas understood how he would have chosen to befriend these two brave boys.

Reading about himself was strange, when he finally entered the story. He seemed so…stilted. But there were subtleties and nuances that hinted at something more beneath the surface, someone capable of compassion and love. Cas watched himself fall and then slowly pick himself up, and start to grow into something more. Someone the Winchesters considered a friend. "Team Free Will," Dean had called them, when Castiel had been passed out after some time travel.

He read of the heartbreak when Joshua told the boys that God didn't care about the world anymore. He read of Dean's despair and Castiel's— _his_ —sacrifice to save Adam. And finally the story ended with the greatest sacrifice of all—Sam jumping into the Pit with Lucifer. He obviously hadn't stayed there, and Cas wondered if maybe he had gone to rescue Sam as he had once done for Dean.

Light footsteps drew his attention from the last page, and he looked up as Jack came into the library.

Cas glanced at the clock, then back at him. "You're up early."

"I don't sleep much," Jack replied.

He supposed that made sense, Jack being half angel. He smiled. "I don't sleep at all."

The boy didn't smile in return.

Cas's expression fell. "Jack, I'm sorry. I'm sure this wasn't the reunion you were hoping for."

Jack squinted at him in confusion. "Why are you sorry? I should be the one apologizing. If I had better control of my powers, this wouldn't have happened."

Cas gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm certain my amnesia isn't your fault."

Jack frowned. "How can you be certain?"

"I should be dead right now. The fact that I'm alive at all is a miracle. And though Dean tells me this is somewhat of a pattern, perhaps it's my repeated trips back from the dead that have left some, well, more lingering damage."

He couldn't know that for sure, but it sounded as good a reason as any, including that Jack's power may have…miscalculated some things. But Cas refused to lay any blame on the boy. It hadn't been his fault, and from what it sounded like, it had just been an instinctive response in the absence of a mother or- or father.

Cas sighed. "Jack, I understand that I promised to protect you. That you were counting on me to be a guide to you. I…I just don't know how to do that when I can't even guide myself right now." He gave the boy a solemn look. "I'm sorry."

Jack's brow was pinched, mouth pursed, and he was silent for several long moments.

"I understand," he finally said, still looking thoughtful. "I've learned a lot in my short time on Earth. Sam and Dean have taught me a lot. Maybe we can guide each other." He lifted hopeful eyes to meet Castiel's.

Cas smiled warmly. "I'd like that." He gestured for Jack to take a seat. "Why don't you tell me about yourself and the things you've been learning?"

Unlike with Sam and Dean, whom Castiel shared years' worth of history with that he had to catch up on, Jack was someone new, someone he hadn't gotten the chance to know yet, and that took some of the pressure off. Not completely, because Cas couldn't give the boy what he wanted in a father figure. But even if Cas had his memory, they'd be starting from scratch, getting to know each other. Or, well, getting to know one of them, as Cas still didn't know himself yet.

One step at a time, though.

Jack finally smiled brightly at the invitation and hurried over to sit. He started with telling Cas everything he remembered seeing and feeling when he'd been born, his discovery of nougat, and the angels attacking him. He spoke of the grief over losing his mother, and searching for Castiel before Sam explained to him that Castiel was gone. Jack confessed his fears about his powers and whether they were meant for evil like so many believed, but quickly assured Castiel that he was trying to be good, that he wanted to be good.

And Cas felt love for this boy stir within him. He didn't think he had much to offer, but in that moment, Cas silently renewed the vow he'd apparently taken—he would protect Jack, in whatever way he could.


	4. A New Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be working later on Mondays for a bit, so rather than posting chapters later, I'm just going to post them in the morning instead.

Dean hadn't slept this good in several months. Even going to bed late, he got his four hours and that was enough for him to be feeling awake and chipper when he got up that morning.

Cas's door was open and the room empty when Dean walked by, and he felt a flicker of doubt that Cas had somehow disappeared again. But before he could let himself work into an actual panic, he heard voices coming from the library, and there he found Cas and Jack sitting at one of the study tables, and all his worries evaporated in an instant.

"What are you kids up to?" he asked jovially.

Cas cocked a dubious look at him. "Aren't I millennia older than you?"

Dean rolled his eyes, but it was good-naturedly. "You two want breakfast? I'm cooking."

Jack's face lit up. "Can we have pancakes?"

"Why not," he replied. "Let's even go all out and throw some chocolate chips in them." Dean had never seen Jack beam as brightly as he did then.

Cas's mouth twitched with a small smile. "Sam told me I like coffee, so perhaps I should try some."

Dean grinned, and led the way to the kitchen. He pointed the coffeemaker out to Cas, and then started getting out the ingredients to make pancakes. It took him a few moments to notice Cas staring at the coffeemaker intently, one hand hovering over the buttons.

"Cas?"

The angel sighed. "I'm sorry. I was hoping this would be familiar. I know I'm supposed to push one of these buttons…but I can't figure out which one."

"That's okay," Dean said, and set the mixing bowl aside so he could go over and help. "The grounds go in here first." He showed Cas how to do it, reminded of the first time he had to instruct him. "And this isn't so much a memory thing as it is that every coffeemaker is different. When Sam bought this to replace our old one, it took me a few days to get used to it."

He pressed the button to brew and the machine started gurgling. Dean then got two mugs down from the cupboard before going back to the pancake mixture.

"The aroma is pleasing," Cas commented when the earthy scent started to fill the kitchen.

Dean poured some batter into a heated pan on the stove and sprinkled chocolate chips over it. Cas filled one of the mugs with steaming brown liquid and took a sip. His nose scrunched up.

"That's…bitter."

Dean chuffed. "Jack, you want to get Cas some cream and sugar?"

Jack eagerly went to the fridge and then the pantry to retrieve the items.

"Thank you," Cas said, and looked at the containers dubiously.

"Tablespoon of each," Dean said, glancing over. "Same in mine."

He waited to see if Cas would remember that Dean actually drank his coffee black, but Cas put the servings of cream and sugar in both. Oh well. Dean didn't mind drinking it that way so Cas wouldn't feel self-conscious about not liking it straight.

He flipped the pancake to cook the other side, and casually watched Cas stir the creamer in his mug and take a sip. Cas's face smoothed in a look of bliss.

"Oh, that's much better."

The first pancake finished, and Dean flipped it onto a plate that he then handed to Jack. Just as he was starting to wonder how long it would take for the smell of coffee to wake his lazy brother, Sam came shuffling in. He drew up short at the sight of them, arching a surprised brow at Dean standing at the stove.

"Oh, now you want pancakes?"

"Shut up, bitch, or you won't get any."

Sam huffed, and muttered under his breath, "Jerk."

"I know those words are inherently insults," Cas spoke up, "but you two do mean them as terms of endearment, correct?"

Sam let out a small laugh. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. I take it you got pretty far in the books?"

"I read all of them, actually," Cas replied.

"What books?" Dean asked.

"I gave Cas the Winchester Gospels," Sam said.

Dean groaned. Not those stupid things. Although, he had to admit that was a good way to give Cas a crash course on how they met. Except…Dean started wracking his brain for anything that might be in those books that Cas maybe didn't need to know right now. He couldn't think of anything. It wasn't until Crowley and the Leviathan that things truly fell apart for a while, and those thankfully weren't written down anywhere.

"They were enlightening," Cas went on. "Although, the ending was somewhat…abrupt. But Sam obviously isn't in the Cage…" He trailed off with a questioning inflection.

Sam gave Cas a soft smile. "You got me out."

Dean tensed, because that hadn't gone so well and Sam had ended up walking topside for a year without his soul. But of course Sam didn't mention that.

"Oh," Cas said quietly. "Um, is that how…is that how Lucifer got out again?"

"No," Sam hurried to answer. "Lucifer got out only a year ago."

Cas looked relieved. "Oh, good. Then I didn't release him."

"Pancakes are ready," Dean announced, carrying a plate with a fresh stack over to the island counter and setting it down. "You should try one, Cas. Even though you don't need to eat, you can still enjoy my cooking."

"They're very g'od," Jack put in with his mouth half full.

"See?" Dean said. "Dig in." He turned back to the stove, and thankfully the conversation was successfully stalled as everyone diverted their attention to the food.

"So," Cas spoke up a little later. "What's the plan for today? Is there a case we need to look into?"

"Nope," Dean replied. "The world doesn't need saving at the moment."

There was still Mom, but given that they didn't currently have any means of opening a rift to that alternate dimension, it wasn't like Dean was ignoring her plight.

Cas frowned. "But you-  _we're_  hunters. Shouldn't we be hunting something?"

Dean shook his head. "That's not a priority right now."

Cas let out a frustrated huff that sounded so much like him, Dean's heart gave a pang.

"I don't want to just sit around waiting for my memory to come back. And I don't want to keep you all from doing what you do because of it."

Dean's mouth pressed into a thin line. Of course amnesiac Cas still had to be a stubborn son-of-a-bitch.

"I found a case," Jack piped up.

Dean almost rolled his eyes. Oh, fantastic.

"I was looking for one before you came back yesterday," the kid continued proudly. "And I found some graves that have been dug up. Could be zombies." He leaned toward Cas. "I know what zombies are."

"Or it could be grave robbers," Dean couldn't help but counter. He'd just gotten part of his family back, and he was not taking any chances until Cas was completely well.

Jack's expression fell. "Oh."

"Cas," Sam interjected. "I understand where you're coming from, I do. You want to get back to normal. But…that's not really possible right now," he said gently. "Or, at the very least, we need to take some time to find a new normal with all this."

Cas's mouth pinched in obvious displeasure, but he didn't argue.

Sam turned to Jack. "We'll call another hunter to look into the dug up graves, just in case it is zombies."

"Oh," the kid said. "Okay." He sounded as thrilled as Cas looked.

Cas sighed. "Then that brings me back to my original question: what am I supposed to do with myself all day? Unless there are more books chronicling the last several years that I've missed."

Thank Chuck there wasn't.

"I know nothing's triggered your memory yet, but you came close with the coffeemaker. You want to see what else might be instinctual? How about you try reading some Enochian," Dean suggested. "That is your native language as an angel, so maybe it'd be a good place to start."

Cas seemed to consider it for a moment, and then nodded. "Alright."

"And as far as I'm concerned," he added, "we've all earned some R&R. You  _did_  just come back from the dead."

Cas's expression softened. "Right."

Dean nodded back. And started thinking up what he could do to keep a restless angel busy.

* * *

While Jack was mildly disappointed he wouldn't be able to see any zombies, he also didn't mind staying home in the bunker with everyone. He found it fascinating to watch as Dean's behavior completely shifted with Castiel around. The hunter no longer snapped or made scathing comments, he no longer sulked in his room or avoided Jack at all costs. Dean didn't even seem to mind when Jack was in the same room with him and Castiel. He was like an entirely different person—kind and soft and patient.

Jack felt a twinge in his chest that Dean had never been that way with him. Or, before, anyway. With Castiel here, Dean had started extending similar kindnesses to Jack. It didn't seem to matter that Jack had messed up and brought Castiel back without his memory, and that alleviated some of the tension Jack was feeling.

Dean's suggestion to read Enochian had worked out, and Castiel found that he did understand the language in the texts. It gave him something to do when Jack asked to learn it. Even Dean seemed to pay attention during the lessons, though he had his own stack of books on angel lore he was going through.

At one point, Dean abruptly asked Castiel if there was anything they could do for his wings.

"There's not a lot on wing care in the lore, except to say it's important."

Castiel stared at him. "I doubt there's anything to be done for them. And they're not bothering me."

Dean's eyes hardened a fraction. "They're not bothering you because you said you disconnected from them. But they're still broken."

Jack furrowed his brow at Castiel. His wings were broken? Was that also from Jack bringing him back wrong?

"They've been broken for a long time," Castiel rejoined patiently. "Really, Dean, don't you think if they could be fixed, I would have taken care of it, you know, before?"

Dean's expression suddenly looked inexplicably sad, but he dropped the subject.

Curious, Jack focused on shifting his perception, filtering out the frequencies of this plane in order to see beyond it. The air bent and refracted with colors as dark shapes began to waver in the background. Jack could only stare. He'd never seen an angel's wings before, but even he could tell that such massive structures should not have gaps in the feathers or bones jutting against scarred flesh knotted around joints. Contours of feathers had tatters in them, and the wings drooped heavily down toward the floor. How was Castiel not in more pain?

Jack narrowed his eyes on a flicker of blue at the base of the wings, pulsing as though trying to push through, but something barred it. Castiel had disconnected himself from his wings. Jack suspected that wasn't healthy, either.

"Jack."

He started, vision snapping back to normal. Castiel was looking at him pointedly.

"Do you want a break?"

Jack straightened. "No, I'm fine. Let's continue. Please."

Castiel gave him an odd look, but returned to the Enochian at hand. Perhaps he hadn't been able to tell that Jack had been invading his privacy. Jack tried to focus on the lesson after that, but his thoughts kept straying to the angel sitting before him. He remembered instinctually reaching out to Castiel when he'd first sensed his grace, sensed his goodness and heart. Jack, even before being born, had felt safe and clung to that presence. Now that he saw Castiel, he wondered how someone who had been through so much pain could still shine so brightly with so much love.

But Castiel was still struggling. Nothing triggered any memories over the next couple of days, not even the Netflix movies Dean had them all sit down to watch together.

"Look at the bright side," Dean had said. "You get to see the classics for the first time all over again. And without Metatron's download ruining it."

"Who's Metatron?"

Dean waved the question off. "A smarmy angel who tried to declare himself God. He's gone now."

They watched fantasy movies, which Jack enjoyed immensely. Castiel always tried to see a bigger metaphor in the storylines, which seemed to both exasperate and amuse Dean. Sam actively engaged Castiel in those discussions, while Jack raptly just took it all in.

Yet there was still a pall of discouragement hanging in the air, though Dean seemed to be the only one unaffected by it. Castiel's attention would turn inward, followed by frustration when he seemed to come up with nothing. Sam kept telling him to just give it time, but that answer was almost even more vexing. How much time was needed?

So after giving it a lot of consideration, Jack finally came up with a plan to help his father.

"I think I can help get Castiel's memory back," he announced as they ate lunch in the study room.

Utensils clattered on their plates as silence greeted his statement. Jack gazed around in confusion. Wasn't that good news?

Sam quirked an intrigued brow at him. "How?"

"I've been reading up on amnesia, and it's not that memories are completely gone, just locked away. I can use my powers to look inside Castiel's mind and find them, and then…unlock them," he finished.

Sam's brow furrowed in apparent consideration.

"Jack," Dean spoke up. "It's a nice offer, but we've all read the same stuff, and the experts all say not to push."

"But I can do it," Jack pressed. He just wanted to show them that he could do something right, and good.

"I'd like to try," Castiel said, pushing away from the table.

Dean tossed him a pleading look. "Cas…"

"I want to remember, Dean. I want my life back; I want to be me again."

"You are you."

"No, I'm not. I'm…" Castiel waved his hands around helplessly. "I'm standing in for someone you all care about, but I can't reciprocate, not completely. I read about this angel who followed you both into Hell, and I admire him, but I'm not him. Not like this. And I'm sorry, but this isn't your decision. It's mine." He turned to Jack and gave a resolute nod.

Jack flicked a nervous look between Castiel and Dean. He really wanted to do this, but he didn't want Dean mad at him again.

"Okay," Sam said, breaking the tension. "Okay, we'll give it a shot."

Dean shook his head, but didn't argue further. Jack slowly stood up and walked around the table to stand behind Castiel's chair. He placed his fingertips on Castiel's temples, focusing on summoning up his powers.

"Think back to the first thing you remember."

Castiel closed his eyes, and golden light started to prickle in Jack's fingers. In the next instant, his head jerked backward as an aurora filled his vision, and suddenly he found himself in a field. Castiel blinked dazedly as he looked around in confusion. He turned his face toward the sun and closed his eyes in bliss for a moment before he started to survey his surroundings more intently. There was no one around, so he started walking.

Jack forced the memory to slow down and stop, and then he channeled all his energy into making it rewind. There was darkness like an inky film surrounding him, and Jack tried to push through, to find the memories hidden away on the other side.

A flash of light, and Castiel stepped into a nighttime woodland with a house up ahead. Pain punched through his back and out his chest, and a supernova exploded.

Jack gasped as the pain radiated through his mind. He tried to rein control back in, but there were more images now, coming too fast and hard for him to get a grasp on them.

A demon raised a hand wreathed in fire toward his head, but a surge of familiar power coursed through Castiel, and the demon screamed as she burned.

A flash of silver in moonlight and piercing pain in his abdomen.

Angelic steel between the shoulder blades and through the heart.

Screams and vision coated in red haze as Castiel hung from his wrists.

A cage with a crimson-eyed angel beating his fists over and over into vulnerable flesh.

Fire falling from the sky and grief so wrenching it felt like a tangible blade.

The knife to the back and exploding out his chest. Dean's yell.

It was too much, images and pain bombarding him in rapid succession.

Jack and Castiel threw their heads back and screamed at the same time, and then Jack fell into quiet darkness.


	5. Time and Patience

Sam's heart nearly stuttered when both Jack and Cas suddenly screamed, and then Jack was collapsing backward onto the floor and Cas slumped in his seat, eyes closed. Dean lunged for Cas, so Sam rushed to Jack's side, but the kid had passed out.

"Cas? Cas, can you hear me?" Dean called frantically, patting the angel's cheek. He got no response. "Dammit, I knew we shouldn't have tried this!"

Sam's jaw tightened. Okay, it looked bad, but they didn't yet know exactly what happened. He reached out to squeeze Jack's shoulder and tried to rouse him.

"Jack. Jack?"

Jack's face scrunched up and he let out a low moan. Sam gripped his shoulder harder.

"Hey, Jack, are you okay?"

Jack squinted and turned his head toward him. "That…hurt," he said, sounding surprised and wounded by the declaration. His eyes shifted to where Dean was still trying to wake Cas, and then he started scrambling to his feet.

Sam grabbed his arm to help him up. "Jack, what happened?"

Jack stared at Cas with wide eyes. "I'm…not sure. I saw some of Castiel's memories. But I couldn't control the flow, and they started coming too fast." His mouth pressed into a tight line. "I felt them. Times Castiel was injured. Or tortured. I felt it when he died."

Sam exchanged a horrified look with Dean. Shit, those were not the memories Cas needed back first. Or had this somehow opened the floodgates to his entire memory, and it had just been too overwhelming to handle all at once?

One thing was for certain, though—an unconscious angel was worrying, and Dean still couldn't get Cas to wake up.

"We should get him to his room," Sam suggested.

Dean was radiating tension, but silently stepped to the side to sling one of Cas's arms over his shoulders. Sam moved in to take the other one, and together they half carried Cas down the hall to his room and laid him on the bed. Jack followed behind and remained in the doorway, expression pinched with distress.

"I'm sorry."

Sam gave the kid a sympathetic look. "It's okay, Jack. We know you didn't mean for this to happen. Cas probably just needs some rest. Sounds like it was pretty intense."

Dean let out a derisive snort. "Unless his brain got fried and reset back to zero," he muttered.

Sam shot him a dark look.

Jack looked even more crestfallen. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, and quickly fled.

Sam turned on his brother with a sharp glower. "Nice, Dean."

"What?" he snapped. "We shouldn't have let them do this."

"Like we could have stopped them," Sam countered. "And Cas was right; it was his decision."

"It was a stupid decision."

Sam suppressed a sigh. Dean always reverted to angry mode when he was worried, and that was the root here. After losing Cas the way they had, Sam didn't blame his brother for getting worked up over this. But Sam wasn't ready to jump to worst case scenario.

He pulled the desk chair out and took a seat, resolving to wait. Dean remained restless, pacing a few times, leaning against the wall, until finally his nervous energy drained away and he sank onto the foot of the bed and put his head in his hands.

"It'll be okay, Dean," Sam said quietly.

Dean didn't look up, and his voice came out in barely a whisper. "I can't lose him again."

Sam's chest constricted. "We won't."

As if on cue, Cas finally stirred, turning his head as his eyes squeezed tighter. Dean whipped around and reached for Cas's arm.

"Cas?"

Cas let out a low moan. "Ungh, what happened?" He pried his eyelids open with what looked like great effort and blinked dazedly at them.

"You tell us," Dean replied. "You remember anything?"

Cas's brow furrowed in concentration. "I remember…flashes." His face scrunched up further and then he shook his head. "But they were so fast and just pieces. I can't really make sense of them. And then it felt like everything exploded." He suddenly stiffened and looked around. "Where's Jack?"

"He's okay," Sam assured him. "But he's upset you got hurt."

Cas sighed. "I'm fine. I just have a small headache."

Sam saw his brother instantly snap into mother hen mode.

"I'll get you a bottle of aspirin," Dean said, standing up.

"I should talk to Jack."

"You should take it easy," Dean countered.

"I'll check on Jack," Sam offered before those two could get into another argument neither would win.

Cas sagged back against the pillows. "Tell him this wasn't his fault."

Sam nodded. "I will. And listen to Dean on this. You kinda scared the crap out of us."

Cas's expression softened, and he nodded in understanding.

Sam left Dean to it and made his way to Jack's room. Jack's door was closed, and the kid didn't respond to Sam's knocking, so he finally cracked the door open.

"Jack?"

Jack was sitting at the end of his bed, staring dejectedly at the floor.

"Cas is awake and he's fine," Sam informed him. "And he wants you to know this wasn't your fault."

"I didn't mean to hurt him," the kid said quietly. "I was only trying to help."

Sam came further into the room, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "And maybe you did. You proved that Cas's memories are still there, just mostly out of reach. But now that you've unlocked that door, the rest might come." He offered Jack an encouraging smile. "We just have to give it time."

Jack finally lifted his sad gaze. "Castiel isn't angry?"

Sam huffed out a small laugh; he couldn't imagine Cas ever being angry with Jack. "No. He knows you were trying to help, and he doesn't blame you for it not going the way you hoped. He was more worried that you were hurt than about himself."

Jack looked taken aback by that for a moment, and then his expression sobered again. "What about Dean?"

Sam tried not to grimace. He didn't actually know where his brother's head was at concerning Jack. So far, Dean had taken his anger out on Cas, as per usual.

"Dean knows you were just trying to help, too," Sam said, because that, at least, he was sure of. Whether his brother  _expressed_  that without jumping down the nephilim's throat could end up being another matter altogether…

"But," Sam added, "let's not try that again for a while. I know we all want Cas to get his memory back, but patience might be the better course of action here."

Jack nodded somberly. Sam felt a twinge of disappointment himself. He wanted to see Cas restored and whole, too. But they had to tread carefully, or risk losing him all over again.

* * *

Cas sat at one of the library tables, sheets of yellow paper torn from a legal pad spread before him as he tried to sketch out the snippets of memory that had been stuck on repeat in his head since yesterday. They were all jumbled together, and he hoped that maybe getting them down on paper would help him make sense of them. But so far it wasn't really working, and the graphite sketches were just as smudged as the images in his mind.

Dean came into the room and rapped his knuckles on the end of the tabletop. "Hey, come on. We've got some errands to run."

Cas tore his gaze away from the drawings with a barely suppressed sigh. He'd rather spend his time trying to work this out, but perhaps a break and change of scenery would do him good. "To where?"

"The nursery. We need supplies if we're gonna plant that garden. Maybe find a pot or two for your room while we're at it."

Oh, he'd forgotten about that. Cas stood up and followed Dean out to the garage where the Impala was parked. He gave it a cursory look with new understanding after reading how much Dean valued the car. It had been through quite a lot in its many years.

The drive into town was silent save for the rumble of the engine. Cas closed his eyes and wracked his brain to remember this. But while the Impala's purr was soothing in a way, any familiarity Cas felt on the cusp of grasping kept slipping away.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

He opened his eyes. "I'm fine." He turned his head in time to catch the concerned gaze Dean directed at him, and Cas felt a pang of guilt for it. "I'm sorry about what happened with Jack trying to unlock my memories," he said.

Dean shook his head. "It's okay, man. I get it, really. I got hit with a curse several months back, nasty thing that started erasing my memory bits at a time. One minute I'd know who I was, and the next I wouldn't. It- it was terrifying."

Cas frowned. "But you're okay now? You reversed the spell."

He nodded. "Yeah. I guess it's not exactly the same. I kept forgetting I was cursed, kept forgetting my clock was quickly running out." He shrugged. "Kept forgetting I was missing things."

"I think that might be more frightening," Cas said quietly.

"Maybe. Point is, I understand some of the frustration you're going through. I just…" Dean let out a lengthy breath. "I can't lose you again." He quirked a wry smile. "I'd rather have you, memory or not."

Cas just gazed back at him blankly, and Dean sighed before returning his eyes to the road.

They arrived at the nursery, and Cas followed Dean's lead as the hunter grabbed a cart and headed for the aisle with seed packets.

"Guess we should get some vegetables," he commented, picking up tomato and zucchini. "Sam will give us grief if we don't."

Cas stayed silent; he didn't really know what vegetables Sam would or wouldn't like.

He and Dean then made their way outside to where most of the lush stock were kept. The array of colors and aromas was beautiful, but there were too many choices that were rather overwhelming.

"There's probably a science behind what to plant for certain seasons," Dean said. "But I don't know anything about it, so just pick what you want and hopefully it'll hold up."

Cas's mouth turned down slightly. "Dean, we don't have to do this. It's obvious this isn't something we've ever shown interest in before."

Dean's eyes wavered with a glimmer of sadness, and he gave Cas a wan smile. "Yeah, well, in the past we've always been caught up in the next big crisis. So, honestly, I don't know if this is something we would have found interest in. I've never given myself the chance to find out. So now seems like a good time."

Cas softened his expression and nodded in understanding, then turned to the selection of flowers and began picking out any he felt especially drawn to. It was difficult, as they were all lovely specimens.

"It says here this is good for attracting bees," he said, reading the planter card for a butterfly bush. "I think we should get it. It will help cross pollinate later."

He looked over to find Dean grinning at him.

"You got it."

They ended up purchasing ten different plants and five seed packets for various vegetables, along with a potted, lucky bamboo plant and a bonsai tree for Cas's room. Dean also picked up a bag of fertilizer and a few gardening tools that the bunker apparently didn't already have.

Packing the Impala with their haul was more arduous than picking out the plants to begin with. Dean laid down several layers of black trash bags the nursery provided to prevent soil from spilling in the trunk, and stuffed them tightly around each pot so they wouldn't tip over on the drive back. Cas thought Dean's devotion to this project must have been very high to risk dirtying his beloved car.

Thankfully, their cargo made it back to the bunker without making a mess, and the next step was to find a plot of land to plant everything.

Cas and Dean walked the perimeter of the compound, surveying the underbrush and overgrowth before they finally settled on a place out near the garage door, but off the gravel path. There were a lot of weeds, so clearing the area became their next task.

They labored in silence, hacking at the tall grass and digging up the roots, but it was companionable. Dean worked up a sweat while Cas didn't, though his slacks and trench coat were dusty and smeared with dirt by the time they'd finished planting everything.

Cas looked down at himself, rubbing his dirty hands on his pants. "Um, I'm not sure how to clean this, 'with my mojo,'" he admitted, using air quotes.

Dean furrowed his brow. "Oh. Uh…don't you just…think what you want and it happens?"

Cas gave him a dry look. "If that were so, I could do a lot more."

Dean reached up to rub the back of his neck. "Well, what about thinking of your grace like water or something? And it just…cleans everything?"

Cas canted his head in consideration, then looked down at his attire to try that. He felt his grace stir within him, and then surge outward with a sweeping wave that was invisible, but in the blink of an eye, his clothes were pristine again.

Dean grinned widely. "See?"

Cas couldn't help but smile back, and he turned to admire their handiwork. One half of the garden had the freshly transferred flowers, while the other half was bare where the seeds had been sown. He pursed his mouth thoughtfully.

"I wonder if I can use my grace to make the seeds sprout faster."

Dean glanced at the garden. "I bet you could," he mused. "But let's just let it grow naturally. We've got time, after all."

"Sam won't get to eat the vegetables for several months if we wait," Cas pointed out.

"Sam can get by on the rabbit food from the grocery store until then," Dean rejoined, and moved closer to clap Cas on the shoulder. "I'm fine watching them sprout in their own time."

Cas suspected there was a double meaning in that, but before he could argue his case further, an image of Dean clapping him on the shoulder while doubled over laughing flashed through his mind. It was gone just as quickly, but the feeling lingered—bewilderment, amusement…contentment. Was it a memory? It had to be, and was not only the first one to come to him on its own, but it was a nice one, unlike the others.

So Cas simply nodded and started to help Dean gather up the tools to put them away. Perhaps time and patience was the best course.


	6. These Fragments Bleed

 

Dean had never really been one for patience, but lately he found himself perfectly content to take things slow with Cas. Sure, it'd be great if his best friend would get his memory back, but Dean was just glad to have him  _alive_  and  _here_. And he wasn't risking that for anything. So he focused on learning how to take care of a garden, and when he caught wind of cases, he passed them off to other hunters.

"You sure you got this?" he said, phone pressed to one ear as he emailed the local news article he'd stumbled on.

"Yes," came the annoyed reply. "I've been hunting a lot, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. If you get into a bind, call Jody, though, okay?"

"Okay."

The line disconnected, and Dean looked up as Sam and Cas were coming into the library. Sam shot him a pissy bitch-face.

"Claire, really?"

"What?" Dean said defensively. "She can handle herself."

Sam just shook his head.

"Do I know Claire?" Cas asked.

Dean froze for a second, as did Sam, the two of them exchanging a tense look. Which of course Cas picked up on.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Dean tried to brush off. "You have met Claire. Tried to help her out a few times."

Cas eyed him critically. "And?"

"And she just needs to find her own way. But she's doing good right now."

Sam scoffed under his breath, which Dean ignored. Yes, the case with the werewolf had turned disastrous and almost ended in tragedy, but Claire had come out the other side. Stronger for it, too. Dean recalled when she was just a lost, scared kid trying to survive when the world had taken everything from her. Not so different from Dean and Sam when they were young.

Not so different from someone else he knew.

Dean excused himself and left the library to track down Jack. The nephilim had been making himself scarce since the failed attempt to restore Cas's memory.

Dean found him in one of the archive rooms, sitting cross legged on the floor and staring at that stupid pencil Sam had wanted him to levitate.

"Hey."

Jack kept his gaze down as he responded with a quiet, "Hey."

Dean rolled his shoulder awkwardly. "I, uh, just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Jack finally looked up, face drawn with obvious confusion. Dean felt a twinge of guilt that it wasn't unwarranted. He knew he'd been unfair to the kid since the moment they'd laid eyes on him, blaming him for things that he really had nothing to do with.

"I'm fine," Jack murmured.

"You know, you brought Cas back to us, and I haven't even thanked you for it." Dean gave the kid an earnest look. "So, thank you."

Jack looked taken aback. "I wish I could help more," he replied solemnly.

"You're doing good, Jack," Dean assured him. "No one expects you to be able to solve everything." He paused. "You're just a kid."

Jack's brows furrowed. "Sometimes it feels like everyone expects me to be something big and powerful. Other angels. That demon." His gaze drifted to the pencil. "Sam."

Dean shifted in discomfort. He remembered accusing Sam of only caring about the kid to use him as a key for an inter-dimensional door, but deep down Dean knew his brother better than that. "You do have a lot of power. Sam just wants to help you learn how to control it. He…he gets what that's like," Dean admitted.

It'd been years since the psychic visions and demon blood powers, but in some ways, Sam had been right where Jack was now. No wonder he felt for the kid, believed Jack wasn't evil just because his powers came from an evil source.

"But hey," Dean went on, "we're not putting pressure on Cas to remember, and we're not putting pressure on you to be some wonder boy superhero. Just, take it slow."

Jack gazed up at him with the kind of intensity Cas used to stare with, and Dean could have laughed at the uncanny resemblance. But he didn't, and after a moment, Jack slowly nodded.

"Okay."

"Okay." Dean turned and started to leave, but paused in the doorway to glance back. Jack was staring at the pencil, and a second later, it wobbled off the floor and floated up into the air.

* * *

Sam didn't quite know what to do with so much free time since they weren't taking any cases. On the one hand, he knew it was the right thing to do while Cas was still getting used to things; on the other, Mom was still out there somewhere and Sam wanted to find her. He just didn't have any way of going about it. Which left him restless, and he envied Dean for being able to sleep soundly, even while he was glad his brother wasn't slowly withering away in front of him.

He wandered the bunker halls idly, debating on whether to stop by the kitchen for some coffee or to just stretch his legs before heading back to bed and trying to get some sleep. The light was on in the library, and Sam veered that way where he found Cas sitting at one of the tables, his sketches laid out around him.

"Wow," Sam commented. "Those are getting really detailed."

Despite being done with nothing but pencil, the renderings looked incredibly realistic. Cas had some amazing talent Sam had never known about before. Some of these almost took him back to the moments he'd been present for.

Cas leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "The memories have become clearer the more they've played over and over in my head. But no matter how hard I try, I can't add anything to these brief snapshots." He swept a hand over the drawings, then looked up. "I think Jack should try to unlock more memories."

Sam tensed. "Cas…" he hedged. "We can't push it."

"But it was working," he protested. "I wasn't prepared before, but I can handle it. Things certainly can't get worse than what I've already remembered."

Sam had a sick feeling in his stomach, afraid that declaration was a vastly gross understatement. "Cas, you've been through a  _lot_  in your time. Getting swamped with those kinds of memories…you passed out.  _Jack_  passed out. I don't think it's a good idea for either of you."

Cas abruptly dropped his gaze. "Of course, you're right," he said contritely. "That's not fair to Jack."

Sam didn't think it was fair to either of them, but he also understood that need to know what one's mind had forgotten. He'd been there himself. And even though filling in the blanks was so vital, sometimes it hurt. A lot.

"Jack said one of the memories he saw- felt- was, uh, you dying." Sam shifted his weight. "How are you holding up, with that?"

Cas shrugged. "It's a painful memory. But so are the rest of them." His eyes roved over the various sketches. "I only have these fragments, and it feels like pieces of myself are so close, yet just out of reach."

Sam's chest constricted with sympathy. He slid into the chair next to Cas and reached for one of the sketches, a spade-shaped blade attached to a spear. Cas had even remembered the rune work on it.

"This is the Lance of Michael," he said, throat growing tight at the memory. "We'd gone up against a Prince of Hell, though we thought he was just a regular demon at the time. We were so unprepared. Nothing we threw at him fazed him. I don't know how he had a heavenly weapon, but he stabbed you with the lance. It…" Sam's words choked off and he had to take a moment to collect himself. "It poisoned you. You were dying, rotting from the inside, and we were told there was no cure."

Sam shook his head. "That didn't stop us from trying to trap Ramiel and force him to give us a cure." He paused, lip curving in a wry smile. "You told us to leave, to save ourselves. You couldn't even stand but you said you'd hold Ramiel off as long as you could."

Cas was silent as he listened.

"But family doesn't get left behind," Sam continued, unable to keep the fervency from his tone, just as he'd had back in that barn when he'd adamantly told Cas they  _were_  fighting,  _for_   _him_. "We tried to trap Ramiel in a ring of holy fire, but it didn't work. There was a fight, and I ended up getting my hands on the Lance and killing him with it."

"Did he give you the cure?" Cas asked.

Sam ran a hand down his jaw. "No. No, you, uh…you were still dying. It was awful, and I really thought we were going to lose you. But then the Lance got broken and that somehow broke its magic, and you…were okay after that." He swallowed around the spiky lump that had settled in his throat.

Cas gave him a look of remorse. "I'm sorry I do that a lot. Almost die."

Sam choked on a strained laugh. "Yeah, well, it's not just you all the time."

"Yes, I got that from reading the Winchester Gospels," Cas said with a touch of wryness.

They lapsed into silence for several moments, gazes settled on the sketch that held such haunting memories for both of them.

When Cas spoke again, it was soft and vulnerable. "Most of the glimpses I've had of my past are filled with violence and pain. So much so that the one good flashback I think I had, I doubt was real."

Sam's heart clenched. In some ways, he could relate to that; his life certainly wasn't overflowing with rainbows and kittens, though there  _were_  good moments. But Cas was millennia older than him. He couldn't imagine what it was like to be burdened by that many war-torn memories.

"You're an angel of the Lord," he said quietly. "A soldier. You've fought in a lot of battles."

Cas trailed a finger over the sketch of the Lance. "Like against a Prince of Hell." He pulled his hand back. "Do the wars outnumber the moments of peace?" he asked, sounding pained and lost. "Are there enough good memories buried somewhere in my subconscious to balance out the bad ones?"

Sam lowered his gaze. He didn't know. He didn't know a fraction of what Cas's life had been like before he'd met the Winchesters. And so he couldn't help his friend fill in those blanks, much to his regret.

Sam straightened. "There was this one night, you were riding with us in the Impala. It was back during the Apocalypse when you were cut off, and you sometimes got drained after a battle. Anyway, we'd just stopped some demons from doing some ritual or other, a small victory in the greater scheme of things. But it was a win. Dean had bought some beers and we parked on a stretch of highway away from the city, and just sat on the hood of the Impala under the stars." He smiled. "There was a meteor shower, and I remember it being so breathtaking and peaceful, like maybe the Apocalypse wasn't really happening." Sam shrugged. "That's a good memory for me."

Cas canted his head. "That wasn't in the books."

"I wouldn't think it would be," he replied. "They're all about the drama and adventure. The quiet moments are often overlooked."

Cas gave a solemn nod. "I hope I get that memory back," he said softly. "And any others like it."

Sam felt a pang of grief, and wracked his brain for more good moments he could share…but he wasn't coming up with many.

They needed to change that.

"Well, there's the times we've watched movies in the bunker," he said. "Like we've done recently. And we ate Chinese take-out once and laughed over the fortunes in the cookies." Sam trailed off, grasping at straws. "There are also moments I wasn't there for, but you told me about them. Like the time you rescued a cat from a tree. I guess it scratched you, but then followed you for a couple blocks until you bought it some tuna. And there was the time you flew over the North Pole and through the Aurora Borealis." Sam quirked a smile. "I actually wish I could have been there for that. It sounded incredible."

He reached out to squeeze Cas's arm. "There are good moments, Cas, I promise. And back when you almost died from that Lance, you told me and Dean that knowing us was the best part of your life. So just hold onto that."

Cas's gaze drifted back to the sketches, of the Lance of Michael and what looked like a torture room, and meteors falling from the sky that Sam was pretty sure weren't shooting stars. But then Cas pushed the papers away and stood up.

"Thank you, Sam."

Sam smiled. "You're welcome."

When he finally went to bed, Sam dreamed of Charlie, riding in the Impala, and the Northern Lights.


	7. Haunted Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of you were wondering how I could possibly ruin all this domestic fluff. Here's how. ;)

Jack rotated the pencil midair, slowly at first, but then faster and faster, increasing the speed until the pencil was spinning so fast that it was a whirring blur. He could feel the micro vibrations through his mental link, and focused on maintaining a tight hold of them.

Until movement in his peripheral vision distracted him for a split second, and the pencil suddenly went flying across the room to embed itself in the concrete wall, an inch from Castiel's head.

Jack jumped to his feet. "I'm sorry!"

Castiel reached up to extract the pencil, its lead tip now completely mashed and a blackened smear left in the crack that now sat in the wall. Hopefully Sam and Dean wouldn't notice.

Jack ducked his gaze abashedly. "Sorry," he said again. "I thought I had complete control over it."

Castiel gave him a warm smile. "From where I was standing, you did. Until you got distracted." He examined the pencil. "That would probably be a good lesson for later."

"Not now?" Jack asked hesitantly. He really did  _want_  to gain control of his powers.

Castiel walked over to a small table against the wall and set the pencil down. "I have something else in mind for right now. I've been feeling out my own grace, and maybe I can help guide you in some use of your own."

Jack perked up. "I'd like that."

Castiel nodded, and then canted his head toward the hall for Jack to follow.

They headed outside and around back to the garden. Jack had yet to see it, but he'd heard Dean and Castiel discussing it, along with Sam. The soil had obviously been tilled recently, and fertilizer mixed with the dirt gave the patch of land a rich, dark look. Small plants had been evenly spaced out on one side, while the other was bare.

"There are seeds planted here," Castiel informed him, gesturing to the barren section. "Try to use your grace to coax them into sprouting."

Jack furrowed his brow. "How?"

"Reach out with it," Castiel instructed. "First to just sense the dormant seeds."

Jack squinted at the ground and tried to do that. His focus narrowed on the soil until he could hear the pulsing heartbeat of the earth—the worms and roots, underground tributaries and burrowing insects. It was quite overwhelming.

"There's so much," he said.

"Concentrate on filtering the other stuff out."

Jack scrunched his face up with intense concentration, feeling like he was wading through a mire of sensations. But then he found the seeds, their presence an almost imperceptible chord amongst the cacophony around them. It was like they were asleep.

Pursing his mouth, Jack focused on 'waking them up.'

"That's it," Castiel said nearby. "Gently. If they grow too fast, they could break. Let your grace fill them gradually."

Jack could see them in his mind's eye—the pods cracking open and fragile shoots poking their heads out. He had to concentrate on not letting his powers flood them, but to just let a trickle of energy pour into the saplings.

"Very good, Jack."

He'd been so focused that he hadn't even realized the sprouts had come up through the soil, and now the entire patch of dirt was spotted with green fronds.

Jack broke into a wide smile. He'd done it.

In his elation, he felt some of his power course outward, and suddenly the flora around the garden started to blossom as well—ivy climbing up the trees, flowers unfolding in the branches above, and berries turning bright and plump on the bushes.

Jack was beaming as he turned to Castiel. "I did something good. This is good, right? Creating life?"

Castiel smiled back proudly. "It's very good, Jack."

Jack's chest swelled. It  _felt_  good. It felt good to create something beautiful and serene, something that didn't hurt anyone. He was about to ask what else he could do with his powers, but Castiel started to frown, and then flinched.

"Are you okay?" Jack asked hurriedly.

Castiel didn't respond right away. His gaze had drifted down and his forehead was creased as though in deep thought. Jack shifted his weight, wondering if he should do something. But then Castiel gave himself a small shake.

"I'm fine," he said. "I just…I think I remembered something."

Jack perked up again. "What?"

Castiel roved his eyes over the flora. "A garden like this one," he said somewhat dazedly. "Only, there were angels everywhere and…and scorched wings."

Jack frowned. Scorched wings? Of angels?

Castiel straightened, his expression going carefully blank. "It's nothing. I think that's enough practice for today."

He turned and headed back inside, leaving Jack standing alone in the garden to worry. Wasn't getting his memory back supposed to be a good thing? So why did Castiel suddenly look so haunted?

Jack wished he knew what to do to help, but one act of using his powers to create something beautiful didn't mean he was ready to fix things much bigger than him. Especially when it put his family at risk.

And so all he could do was sit back and wait, and hope he didn't mess up again.

* * *

_"You will kneel, Castiel."_

_"No."_

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push the memory from his mind. He'd been getting more and more snippets now, pieces spanning thousands of years, when civilizations were first starting out and he remembered what it felt like to be a multi-dimensional wavelength of celestial intent. He was an angel; he knew that now, in his bones as opposed to just accepting what he was told.

But for all the snapshots, he still couldn't make sense of any of them. He could have a hundred pieces of a puzzle, but if the total was over one trillion, they did little to paint a coherent picture.

And so many of the flashbacks were…horrific. So much so that Castiel was afraid to ask Sam and Dean what they were. Having Sam tell him about Ramiel had unlocked a few more memories of that incident, and it had been terrifying. Castiel had remembered blood and sweat and the feeling of choking on his own liquefied insides…

He clenched his fists and almost punched the table he was sitting at. That memory had triggered another one full of agony and screams and black goo, and fields of angels laying decimated in Heaven.

Heaven. Heaven should be a place of paradise, of peace. But so far, all of Castiel's glimpses of it contained violence and brutality. Nothing made sense, and he was beginning to feel more confused than when he'd known absolutely nothing.

"I know you've been working with Jack on controlling his powers," Sam was saying, though his voice was muffled in contrast to the images currently assaulting Castiel's mind. "Do you think there's a chance he could open a rift to that other world?"

Castiel frowned. "Where Lucifer is?"

"Yeah, uh…it's just that Lucifer wasn't the only one to get stuck over there. We lost someone we cared about, too. And if there's a chance we can get her back, we have to try."

Castiel was having trouble following. "We risk Lucifer coming back as well."

Sam's throat bobbed. "Yeah, I know. But—"

The Sam standing before him was suddenly replaced with a younger looking version, and Castiel watched as he reached out to touch the young man's temple. Sam flinched and immediately collapsed. Dean's horrified yell echoed in Castiel's ears as he flew away.

The images flashed forward to a dingy room with broken glass and lab equipment. Castiel stood in the center…Sam stumbled in and stabbed him in the back.

"Cas? Cas! Hey, what's going on?"

Sam's face was abruptly in front of him, and Castiel jerked back so hard he toppled the chair over and hit the ground.

"Cas!"

He scrambled backward, holding out his hands to ward off attack. "Don't touch me," he snapped.

Sam pulled up short, eyes wide and worried. He raised his palms. "Cas," he said more calmly. "Are you having a flashback?"

Castiel staggered off the floor and backed up against a bookcase. His chest was heaving and his lungs felt tight, even though he knew logically that his vessel could survive without oxygen.

"Cas, talk to me," Sam said desperately. "What are you remembering?"

"I hurt you," he blurted. He didn't know how or why, but he knew that whatever he had done in that flashback, it had caused immense damage to the young hunter.

"And you hurt me," he went on, unable to control the outpouring of words. "I- I don't understand." Sam was his friend.  _He_  was Sam's friend. Was it some kind of trick? A false memory? But how could it be false?

Sam blanched. "Okay, Cas, whatever you're remembering…you're probably missing a lot of context."

"What context could possibly make trying to kill each other okay?" he retorted.

Sam flinched. "That's not…"

Flashes of screams and red veins shot through Castiel's head like lightning, and he stumbled back another step as he reached up to clutch his temple. Devilish laughter echoed in the background.

"Okay, look," Sam rushed, "after we stopped the Apocalypse, the archangel Raphael wanted to start it all over again, and you were fighting a war in Heaven to keep that from happening. Only you were outgunned, so you made a deal with a demon to open Purgatory and use the souls there to gain enough power to defeat Raphael."

Castiel shook his head.  _What?_  He remembered broken angels in a beautiful garden. "Alright, and?" he said snappishly.

Sam's cheek ticked. "And when Dean and I found out that was your plan…we were upset. You tried to explain and we didn't listen, and instead we decided to stop you. So you broke the wall in my head that was protecting me from remembering the trauma I went through in the Cage with Lucifer. To keep us distracted."

Castiel stilled, horror overtaking him. He had what?

Other details began to filter through.

"I left your soul in the Cage," he murmured.

"Not on purpose! You didn't know. And me trying to hurt you…" Sam's face pinched with distress. "I wasn't thinking straight, and you had consumed the Purgatory souls and they were corrupting you…"

Scorched wing prints, seared across Heaven.

Castiel reeled back and almost tripped. "What have I done?"

Sam took a step forward, but stopped when Castiel shot him a dark glare. "You've made some mistakes."

"'Mistake' hardly seems the right word for it," Castiel bit out. "What happened after that?"

Sam fidgeted.

"What happened?" he demanded.

Sam's eyes wavered. "After you stopped Raphael, you eventually realized what the souls were doing, so you decided to put them back. But…there were these Leviathan, and they held on inside you, took control and we thought you were dead—"

Castiel remembered the inky poison in his veins and maniacal laughter as he was crushed into dust.

He bolted from the library and toward the nearest bathroom where he fell against the sink and vomited. There wasn't any black goo, not like before, not like that other bathroom with monsters pushing against his flesh from the inside out…

He retched again, dry heaving into the sink.

A shadow filled the doorway, and a moment later, a hand towel appeared in front of him. He took it, wiping at his mouth. Sam was a silent presence blocking his exit.

"What kind of monster am I?" Castiel whispered, gaze fixed on the floor.

"You're not a monster," Sam said fervently.

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut as Dean's face flashed before him, furious and raging in a way that seemed completely incongruent with the man who had found him in that alley and brought him home. Why? Why had Dean done that for him? Castiel certainly didn't deserve it.

"I hurt you," he said again, heart breaking. Everything he'd been led to believe about the Winchesters and his relationship with them had been a lie.

"We've worked past it," Sam said insistently. "It was a long time ago and we've all forgiven each other. It's not like you're the only one who's screwed up that badly before."

Oh, Castiel doubted that. Declaring himself  _God_ …

"How can I be a good role model for Jack?" he choked out. "How could I have ever thought I was qualified to raise him? Was I truly that arrogant?"

"It's not arrogance, Cas." Sam reached out to clasp his arm, and Castiel couldn't help but look up. "It's precisely because you've learned from your mistakes and tried to make things better that you are the best teacher for Jack. That's what makes you better than Lucifer or Raphael or anyone else who went for absolute power."

Castiel shook his head. That was a nice thought, but all these glimpses he'd been getting told a different story. He wasn't better than the Devil. He was just another version of him.

Sam gave him an aggrieved look, almost as though he could read Castiel's thoughts. "Cas, you're still missing a lot of context. And I wish that giving you a run-down would clear things up, but I know it's not enough. Just, please trust me when I say that you are not the same as you were then. You've changed, for the better, and you  _always_  try to do the right thing. Even then, you thought you were doing the right thing for the right reasons."

Castiel wanted to take comfort in that, he did. But the echo of atrocity was still too fresh.

"I need some time to think," he said hoarsely.

Sam's lips thinned, but he took a step back and let Castiel push past him. "Cas," he called. "Me and Dean are here."

Castiel hesitated in the hallway, but then kept going without looking back. He made his way upstairs and out the door, stepping into a brisk evening chill. He stood for a moment and let the physical sensations anchor him to reality and the present.

He tried to cling to the past few days with Sam and Dean, and Jack, tried to convince himself that this family unit was real, that somehow it was whole and strong in spite of what they had gone through in the past. But he couldn't do it, couldn't let go of the guilt and loathing from his mistakes. It didn't matter what his good intentions were at the time, or what he'd done to try to 'make up for it' since.

Castiel's shoulders sagged. His memory was returning to him, but he was finding that he didn't like the person that he was.

And he wished he could go back to blissful ignorance.


	8. Grace Will Lead Me Home

So Cas was starting to get his memory back. Dean should have been thrilled. But after Sam told him what happened the other day, he couldn't help but feel an inkling of dread. He remembered the fear and confusion when his own memories had been slipping away through his fingers, and imagined the opposite could be just as terrifying.

Cas had withdrawn since then, spending more time sequestered away in his room with Sam's laptop and Netflix. Not a good sign. Dean and Sam took turns checking on him, not wanting to leave him alone with flashbacks that made no sense, but at the same time wanting to give him some space to work through things. They didn't know what else to do.

And then one day when Dean was collecting the trash to take down to the incinerator, he found Cas's trench coat wadded up and stuffed in one of the bins. Dean frowned as he dug it out. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with it, and Cas had figured out how to use his mojo to keep it clean, so why was it in the garbage?

Balling the article up in his hands, Dean headed to the angel's room to ask him about it. He knocked out of nicety, but only waited a brief moment with no response before simply opening the door and walking in.

Cas was lounging on the bed, still wearing the suit, at least, with only the dim light from the computer screen filling the dark space. It was not an image Dean was happy to see, especially since it evoked his own bad memories.

"Cas, can we talk?"

Cas didn't even look his way. "About what?"

Biting back a sarcastic reply, Dean took a breath and went over to pause the movie that was playing. He held up the coat. "About this. Why did you throw it away?"

Cas flicked a seemingly bored look at the item. "It's not the original. Not the one that belonged to Jimmy Novak, my vessel."

Dean quirked a confused brow. "Okay…?"

Cas turned his gaze back to the frozen computer screen. "I've had enough flashbacks to tell the difference now," he said, voice unsettlingly monotone. "I even remember when I lost the first one. When my grace was cut out and I fell to Earth. And I remember cutting out and stealing another angel's grace, cleaning myself up afterward like it was nothing, and stealing that coat." His eyes finally flashed with dark emotion as he glanced at Dean again. "So I don't want that thing anymore. I don't want to  _remember_  anymore."

Dean's chest constricted. "Cas, we've all done things we regret."

"I've done  _terrible_  things, Dean," Cas retorted. He shook his head, jaw tightening. "Sam told me I've made mistakes, but that my heart was always in the right place. Well, that's not what I'm seeing. The more I remember about myself, the more I realize how despicable I am. I should have just stayed dead this time."

Something inside Dean snapped at that, his blood turning to ice in his veins. "Don't you dare say that," he growled.

Cas swung his legs over the side of the bed to stand. "I remember beating you to a pulp, Dean.  _Twice_! So, please, tell me why you should even want me alive."

Dean threw the inferior coat on the floor. "Because you're family! And sometimes family hurts each other. I've beaten the crap out of you, too. Do you remember that? I had the Mark of Cain and it was corrupting my soul, turning me into a demon. You tried to stop me, to save me, and I almost killed you for it. I didn't deserve another chance after that, but you never gave up on me. I sure as hell won't ever give up on you."

Silence crackled with a volatile charge between them, blazing gazes fixed like magnets on the other. Dean felt the pressure in his chest pushing against his lungs. He forced himself to let out a breath, then take one in again.

"Cas…" His voice broke. "When you died…a part of me died, too. So don't you  _ever_  think anyone would be better off with you gone. I need you. Jack needs you. That kid trusted you before he was even  _born_  for a reason, man. His mother trusted you."

Cas looked away, a muscle in his cheek twitching.

"Just…hold off condemning yourself until you have the whole picture again." Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat, and took a step closer, practically invading the angel's personal space. "Your memory is coming back, and you just have to wait for all the blanks to fill in, the reasons and the drive behind everything you did. Because I promise you, you're not the villain, in any of this."

Not even when Dean had thought he was.

"You're a soldier, and a hero, and you've sacrificed far more than anyone should ever have to. And when you remember everything, you're gonna find that there's never been a more devout angel, or loyal friend, than you."

Cas lifted eyes wavering with doubt and shattered shards of hope. Dean reached out and pulled him into a hug, holding on tight. He was getting his best friend back, slowly but surely.

But that meant all the angel's burdens and self-loathing he'd been free of these past several days were returning as well, the things that had led Cas to saying yes to Lucifer, and stealing the Colt, and trying to kill the Devil on his own.

And somehow that made Dean feel even more helpless. Because making an amnesic Cas feel at home and loved was easier than convincing the angel with his memory of the same.

And Dean didn't know how he was going to fix that.

He finally drew back and looked Cas in the eye. "Please, man, trust me and Sam here. I know things look bad—they were bad when we were in the middle of it. But we got past it. And all the crap we've gone through has made us stronger. Together."

"I don't deserve absolution," Cas whispered.

"Me neither," Dean replied. "I guess that's why they call it grace."

Cas let out a soft snort. "But God isn't around anymore."

Dean thought about what Billie had told him, that he and Sam were important. He thought about all the different ways Cas had found his way back to them.

"Yeah, well, maybe someone out there is looking out for us anyway."

Cas closed his eyes. "I don't know how much more of this I can take," he said brokenly. "Just when I think it can't get any worse, I remember some other horror or atrocity." He opened his eyes and gave Dean a beseeching look. "How did I live with it all before?"

That spiky lump in his throat constricted further. "Honestly? I don't think you did. I think you pushed it down and tried to ignore it for as long as you could, for as long as you had a mission you could throw yourself into." Dean's voice cracked with the weight of guilt and remorse for not having seen it sooner—for not having done anything about it. "And I don't think you cared whether you lived or died."

Cas's expression fell with disappointment, like he had no trouble believing that was true.

Dean cleared his throat. "Things are different now. You don't have to carry this alone anymore." And he never would again.

Cas gave a weak nod. "I'll try."

That was all Dean could ask—and do in return.

* * *

Jack hid in an alcove near Castiel's room. He'd been passing through the hall when he'd heard Dean's and Castiel's raised voices, and had stopped outside the door to listen. His heart hurt, hearing the intensity of Castiel's self-loathing and reproach, how lost he sounded. It struck a familiar chord somewhere in the depths of his subconscious, in a place of awareness that had existed before his birth.

He remembered the first angelic essence to reach out to him gently, with no malice. It had been peaceful and warm, but underneath the fizzling power, Jack had sensed the brokenness and vulnerability, the desperation and defeat. And he'd wanted to help, to reciprocate the kindness he'd been offered.

He remembered sending out pulses of joy, of hope for such pain to end. And eagerness to join the world and make it better for this creature who yearned for the exact same thing. And Castiel had stayed with him, and Jack had felt…loved, and cared for.

He waited in the shadows for Dean to leave, and then he ventured out, creeping up to Castiel's door, which had been left open a crack. Jack nudged it wider. Castiel was sitting on the foot of the bed, head in his hands. The trench coat he always wore was on the floor.

"Castiel?"

The angel looked up and quickly schooled his expression, but Jack had seen the lines of anguish. "Hello, Jack. What is it?"

He came the rest of the way in. "I heard you and Dean." He hesitated. "Do you really wish I hadn't brought you back?"

Castiel's eyes widened a fraction and he quickly stood. "Jack, no. Of course I'm grateful you brought me back. I just…I'm just overwhelmed right now."

Jack gave a small nod in understanding. He wished he could share that vision of peace he'd imparted before, soothe his father's soul as he'd once done months ago. But now that he'd seen the world, the heartache and struggle, he realized how naive it had been. Still, there was hope for something more. That's what his mother's recording had told him, anyway, and he wanted to believe it.

Castiel's eyes crinkled with remorse. "I'm sorry if what I said upset you."

"Dean is right," he said abruptly. "I knew from the first moment I was near you that your heart was good and pure, how you'd be a good teacher for me. You were nothing like the other sources of power that only wanted to control me. You wanted to give me a chance to be good, to be the son my mother believed in."

Castiel blinked, looking taken aback. "You…remember all that?"

Jack nodded. "I understand what it's like to be afraid of something inside you," he went on. "I know it's not exactly the same. But Sam has told me that it's important to want and try to be good, even if you make mistakes." Jack furrowed his brow as he asked, "Do you think that's true?"

Castiel slowly nodded. "Yes, I think that's true."

Jack felt a small measure of relief. "Then the same must be true for you. No matter what mistakes you might have made in the past, or who you've hurt, you can still be good from this moment forward."

Castiel's expression softened. "You're very wise, Jack."

"I have good teachers," he said proudly.

He hesitated then, feeling an inexplicable urge to reach out, yet wondering if it was appropriate to do so. He decided it couldn't hurt, and so he took a step forward and put his arms around his father. Unlike the first time, Castiel immediately embraced him in return. And Jack felt the familiar thrum of grace against his own beating heart.

Something in him gave a spurt of energy, and he heard Castiel take in a sharp breath. Jack felt the faint gold aura of his power fill the air around them and suffuse through his eyes, carrying with it a vision of this very moment. Of peace and family and belonging. He felt his father trembling with emotion, and squeezed tighter.

They were safe. They were home.


	9. Mend These Broken Memories

Sam had always thought that breakthroughs were meant to heal, not hurt. But of course it couldn't be that simple for Cas; things never were for the angel. After the initial flashbacks, Dean had managed to coax Cas out of his room and spend time with them again. Things were still tense, though, and it was becoming more and more obvious when Cas would remember something—he'd flinch, or squeeze his eyes shut as though in pain, and he often rubbed his forehead, looking like he had a headache.

Sam always asked what he was remembering, and Cas would grudgingly tell him. Some fight with other angels. Killing one of his siblings. A severe looking angel taking a drill to his eye.

Cas had fallen quiet for hours after admitting that one, and Sam hadn't pressed him because he had no idea what that memory was about, but it sounded horrifying. He was beginning to realize how little he really knew about Cas's past, how woefully unequipped he was to help his friend deal with memories Sam knew nothing about.

And even though Cas was remembering more and more, there was still a disconnect between the images in his head and what he felt in the here and now, like he was still a stranger merely observing these things from a distance. Sam wondered if Cas just wasn't accepting the memories, if he was somehow resisting assimilating them into his conscious mind. Which, given the nature of most of them, Sam didn't blame him. Watching Cas, Sam was reminded of when his memories of Hell and the Cage had come slamming back into him without warning. He'd been comatose initially, and going crazy for months afterward. And the only solution had been for Cas to take that mental trauma away.

But that wasn't the answer here. They'd come this far. They just had to keep going, just a little longer, until Cas pushed through the worst of it and found himself again.

Sam tried to ignore the niggle of doubt that it would ever happen. Faith hadn't let him down yet; he just had to keep holding onto it.

He opened the package he'd picked up from their post office box and took out a set of colored pencils and sketchbook he'd ordered online. He set them in front of Cas, who was sitting at a study table, reading.

"Hey, I got you these."

Cas furrowed his brow at the items. "Why?"

"You're pretty good at drawing," Sam replied, undeterred by the blunt tone. "I thought it'd be nice if you had some real supplies to do it with."

Cas's lips thinned. "I don't need help triggering memories. And I certainly don't need to memorialize the things I've been seeing."

"So draw something else," Sam said nonchalantly. "Art can be therapeutic, just by getting lost in the process. It doesn't even matter what the subject matter is, if you want to draw realistic landscapes or go completely abstract." He paused. "I mean, did you at least enjoy it? When you first tried it out?"

Cas was silent for a moment. "Yes," he finally said quietly. "It was…relaxing." His mouth was still pressed into a tight line, but he nevertheless reached out to take the sketchbook and pencils.

Sam smiled, and pulled out a chair on the other side of the table, grabbing his laptop to do his own thing while Cas opened the sketchbook and considered the blank page for a long time. He eventually picked up a pencil and set it to the paper. Sam resisted the urge to glance over, and the two of them just enjoyed a simple, companionable silence.

Dean joined them at lunch, carrying a plate stacked with a four-tiered sandwich, which Sam just rolled his eyes at.

"Where's Jack?" Sam asked.

"Outside practicing his green thumb on the garden." Dean shot Cas a pointed look. "What happened to time and patience?"

Cas gave him an abashed grimace. "Sorry. He's just excited to use his powers to create and nurture."

Dean shook his head. "Well, the place is a jungle now."

"I'll help you trim it back," Cas promised. "And I'll speak with Jack about going overboard."

The front door grated open, announcing the young nephilim's return.

"Hey, Jack," Sam called as the kid descended the stairs and came into the library.

"You pick any vegetables for Sam while you were out there?" Dean asked.

"No." Jack stopped at the table and looked directly at Cas. "I've been practicing using my powers," he said seriously. "I'm getting good at it, too. I—" Here, he hesitated, but then pushed forward. "I want to try to heal your wings."

Sam's brows shot upward. "Wait, what?"

Dean forcibly swallowed the bite of sandwich he'd taken. "You can do that?"

Jack nodded eagerly. "I believe so."

"Jack," Cas interjected. "It's fine, really."

"No, it's not. I can see how much they hurt you. You try to hide it, but it's been getting worse."

Dean straightened sharply. "Cas, is that true?"

Cas sighed. "I- yes. The flashbacks have been…draining. The mental block I had to keep the pain in my wings at bay has been…weakening, because of it." He shook his head at Jack. "But really, it's fine. I've lived with them like this for a long time." His mouth quirked ruefully. "I remember that now."

Jack frowned. "But you don't have to keep living with it."

"Kid's right," Dean put in. "You didn't have a way to fix your wings before, and now you do."

Sam was a tad surprised by his brother's enthusiasm on this, after he'd been reluctant to let Jack try restoring Cas's memory—and the fallout of it afterward. But Dean didn't seem to have any such reservations on this. Sam, on the other hand, was a little concerned. The risk was probably negligent, since they weren't talking about messing around in Cas's mind, but Sam couldn't help but worry about whether Jack really could control his powers completely. Because it wouldn't just be Cas who could be hurt, and the kid had come so far and was so hopeful, Sam would hate to see him crushed if anything went wrong.

But at the same time, he could see how desperately Jack wanted to be able to help Cas. Heck, they were all feeling that. And if fixing his wings could ease some of his pain, then wasn't it worth it?

"Cas," he said gently. "Why not try?"

"I'll be careful," Jack promised, giving Cas a beseeching look. "I want to use my powers to heal."

Sam saw Cas's resistance crack, and knew he didn't have the heart to deny the kid that.

Cas's chair scraped across the floor as he pushed it back and stood up. "Alright."

He turned and braced his hands on the back of his chair. Jack moved closer, taking up position behind him. Sam and Dean both got to their feet as well, exchanging apprehensive looks. Neither knew what to expect. Were they going to see Cas's wings corporeal? Sam had only seen shadows once, and while part of him wanted to see just how bad of shape Cas's wings were in, another part of him dreaded discovering what their friend had silently endured for so long.

But as Jack spread out his hands to hover over Cas's shoulder blades, no wings suddenly popped into existence. Jack's palms began to glow with an amber aura, and his eyes lit up with the same radiance. Cas sucked in a sharp breath and bowed his head forward. Sam tensed.

The air bent and refracted, coruscating bands of light starting to take shape in the space between Cas and Jack. They had the contours of wings, and in the resultant incandescence, Sam saw the shadows once more. And the oxygen stole from his lungs.

Even without the tangible details of feathers, Sam could see the ragged plumage, the skeletal appendages hanging at awkward angles down the sides. A single feather slipped free in the billowing magic, its shadow falling to the floor and scattering into ash.

Sam felt sick. It was so much worse than he could have imagined, and he kicked himself for not having tried to do anything about it before now…lamented that Cas had never told them it was this bad.

Dean's expression was equally twisted with grief, but neither of them said anything, both waiting with bated breath as the pressure increased with Jack's growing power.

Jack's eyes were ablaze with fierce concentration and determination, and he slowly started to move his hands, pressing them closer to the kaleidoscopic wavelengths. Cas's knuckles were white on the back of the chair, but he didn't make a sound.

Sam watched tensely, tempted to ask what was happening, but not wanting to disrupt the intense focus that was obviously required. And then, after several long moments, the shadows fluttered and began to lift up. Cas gasped.

Dean shifted as though he wanted to rush forward, but he held himself back. The light was growing brighter, and for a minute, the wings were no longer a scintillant spectrum of effulgence and shadow, but flesh and feathers. And Sam watched scarred patches smooth out and new plumage blossom from the shafts. Onyx feathers with glittering rivulets of cerulean and turquoise fanned out, filling out the wings to the sides in great, majestic spans.

Sam's breath was taken away, and he wanted to keep watching, but the light was too bright now and he had to raise a hand to shield his eyes. There was a burst of angelic blue light and the thwack of powerful wings snapping taut, and then the nova receded.

Sam blinked white spots from his vision as Jack stepped back. Cas was still gripping the back of the chair, his gaze downcast and shoulders shaking.

"Cas?" Dean called tentatively.

Sam threw a questioning look at Jack, and the kid smiled at him.

"It worked," he said, beaming ecstatically.

Cas slowly lifted his head, watery eyes finding Sam and Dean.

"Cas, are you okay?" Sam asked.

He nodded. "I'm…yes." So much emotion filled his gaze then as he looked at them. "Dean. Sam."

And Sam saw in that moment, as well as heard in his voice, that this was  _Cas_ , whole and restored in every way, not just his wings.

He broke into a half giddy smile and moved forward, wrapping Cas up in his arms. And Cas hugged back just as earnestly.

Sam drew back. "I don't understand, how…?"

Cas shook his head, looking bewildered. "I don't know. I think, maybe, with my grace already splintered, I just couldn't handle everything. But now that it's whole…" He turned to Jack. "Thank you, Jack."

Jack was gazing at him, perplexed. "You have your full memory back? Everything?"

Cas nodded. "Yes. I remember everything." He looked back at Sam and Dean. "Including these past several days, and all you did for me. I can't… Thank you."

Dean closed the distance between them and pulled Cas into a fierce embrace, and Sam watched the fear and tension bleed from his brother's face. Dean's mouth quirked with a relieved smile as he held their friend.

"Welcome home," he said in Cas's ear.

Sam beckoned Jack over, and then he enveloped them all in a crushing bear hug. He'd gotten his family back, safe and whole.

He'd gotten his miracle.

* * *

Castiel entered his room and stopped when he spotted his trench coat wadded up on the floor. He remembered the argument he'd had with Dean over it, remembered the distaste he'd felt about the article. Yes, it was a sign of his fallen state, a private scarlet letter, so to speak, that was as ill-fitting as his stolen grace and shame had been. And even though he now had his own grace, and his wings back, this coat was still a reminder of his past, and it was a part of him.

So with resignation, Castiel picked it up and started to shrug it back on.

Which was when Dean came in. The Winchester paused as he took in Castiel, eyes crinkling slightly. He lifted a large paper bag he was carrying. "Got you something."

Castiel watched curiously as Dean set the bag on the bed and pulled a folded piece of fabric out. It was a dark tan, and Castiel recognized it as a long coat when Dean shook it out.

"I couldn't find one exactly like the original," Dean said. "But the color on this one is better, and it's longer than the one you've got now. It's also your size."

Castiel didn't know what to say. "Dean, you didn't have to…"

"You don't like what that coat represents," he interrupted, nodding to the one Castiel was wearing. "And I get it, I do. You did things you're not proud of; we all have. But you're different now. Yeah, you've changed, but for the better. You remember that conversation, right?"

Castiel sighed in exasperation. "Yes, I remember that. I was…upset and confused before."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Doesn't mean there wasn't some truth in it. And you know what? You just came back from the dead. Again."

Castiel gave him a wry look.

"So this is a new start," Dean went on. He held the other trench coat out. "New coat, new chapter in your life."

Castiel dropped his gaze to the brand new coat. Maybe, since he had his wings back…it was time for a change…

He hesitantly reached out to accept it. And maybe Dean was right, maybe this was a new start. All the mistakes Castiel had made recently had apparently been forgiven. His family had welcomed him back, no penance required, and Jack needed him.

_From this moment forward_.

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel said humbly. He started to slough off the old coat, feeling like he was shedding a past skin, but one he'd felt a stranger in long before he'd lost his memory.

Dean's expression was still weighted with something Castiel couldn't quite identify. "Do you remember the first night back here, how you said it was encouraging to know how much you were loved?" Dean asked seriously.

Castiel frowned. Yes…he did remember that. It felt like a dream, though, to be honest. He nodded.

Dean swallowed. "You  _are_  loved, Cas. No matter the crap we've been through, no matter the crap we've put each other through, you are loved and you belong here. And now that your memory is back, I need you to remember  _that_."

Castiel blinked, taken aback by the fervency in Dean's tone, and by the words themselves. No hint of having to make up for past mistakes, of past hurts and betrayals hanging over them. No indication that with his wings and grace restored, Castiel would be called upon to be their powerful ally once more. No, he heard what wasn't spoken aloud, but what was meant—he didn't have to earn anything, didn't have to bring home a win in order to earn his keep.

_"I'd rather have you, memory or not."_

Cursed or not.

Castiel didn't think he had ever truly believed those words until now.

He nodded slowly. "I do know that." He reached for the new coat and slipped it on. It did fit better than the previous one, was soft and warm and yet felt…lighter.

Castiel held his head up. "A new chapter. The four of us."

Dean smiled genuinely. "Team Free Will 2.0."

Castiel's lips quirked.

It sounded good.


End file.
